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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415754">Fly Away, Little Bird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins'>coplins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Sam is 17), Alternate Universe - Human, Brainwashing, Brotherly feels, Cheating, Deceit, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ensemble Cast, Extortion, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt Sam Winchester, If you're here for hot and steamy sex scenes this isn't the fic for you, M/M, Multi, Music, Overcoming past trauma, PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTES - THIS FIC IS ABOUT HEALING, POV Multiple, Past Incest, Prostitute Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Lucifer, Protective Michael, Sam Winchester Whump, Sexism, Sexual Abuse, Shamelessly OOC, Slow Burn, Slowest of the slowburns, Slurs, Some regular in-group friendship 'drama' but nothing extreme, Student Sam Winchester, Underage Prostitution, Underage Sex, distorted self-image, emotionally stunted Sam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:02:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>341,849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coplins/pseuds/coplins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is dad's special little boy. It's a secret. He can't tell anyone, not even Dean. Dad says he'll be jealous if he knew.  Sam is good at keeping secrets. Sam's a bit of an oddball, he's a bit slow, and has trouble understanding what people mean sometimes. It doesn't stop him from making friends or doing really well in school. He dreams of going to college and becoming a writer. He studies hard, applies to college, and gets in on a full ride.</p><p>Once there, he meets people who little by little help him understand the things he never understood before, and bit by bit he starts healing damages he didn't even know existed in him.</p><p>(This is a fic about the long journey to overcoming the lasting damages of sexual child abuse. Sam is a teen when the fic takes off and the incest is never descriptive.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucifer/Dean Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Michael/Dean Winchester, Michael/Sam Winchester, SAM/LUCIFER MAIN PAIRING, Sam Winchester/Other(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. INTRO</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Now, this fic is a little special compared to most of my stuff.  I usually write morally grey or very dark characters. In this fic, we'll meet a few characters like that but all the important people are good people. Very good people even. Damaged and flawed, by all means, but many have their hearts in the right place. I've chosen to let the characters be OOC to fit the story. I decided to write this fic because my mother and my two best friends growing up (they are twins) were sexually abused by their fathers. For obvious reasons, this affected them greatly, and Sam is very much based on one of them in particular. She had the same coping mechanism as I've given Sam. When her 'wall' broke she turned from a confused, socially stupid person to a very sharp and adept one. This is where I'm going with Sam too.</p><p>It's suggested at one point in the fic that Sam might have autism or Asperger's. Those are both things you're born with. Sam was born neurotypical. Sam's brain has created ways to deal with his experiences as a way to protect him. Think; Sam's wall that protects him from his memories of hell in canon. In this fic the 'wall' creates quite a lot of communicative problems for Sam, prevents him from understanding things, but his 'wall' can be broken.</p><p>Autism, however, is part of who a person is. It's not something that can be cured. The brain simply works differently than for neurotypical people. Trying to make an autistic person fit into what is expected of a neurotypical person, instead of trying to understand them and adapt to their specific needs can be very harmful and in many cases result in abuse and dehumanization.</p><p>Sam is not on the autistic spectrum. I feel it's important you know that.</p><p> <b>There will be many Sam-pairings in this fic but the slow burn endgame is Sam/Lucifer(Nick), and Dean/Michael. If you're here for Dean/Michael you should know that it's a secondary pairing that won't come into play until much, <i>much</i> later when I'll explore Dean's feelings and reactions to what happened to Sam right under his nose without him knowing. Sam/Michael is a temporary but very important pairing and that's why it's in the tags. This fic will also have a look at the people close to Sam and their struggles.</b></p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://youtu.be/-WV9LQD1SjU">Inspiration for this song</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><hr/>
<p>When it started he knew something wasn’t right, of course. It felt wrong and alien, made something lurch and buzz uncomfortably in his belly. It made him anxious. He didn’t know <em>why</em> it made him feel that way, it just did. But as all kids, he trusted his dad. Dad knew everything. He was daddy’s special little boy. Nobody could know. It was their secret. If Dean found out, he’d be jealous and sad because dads aren't supposed to have favourites. Plus “Dad will be very angry and <em>very</em> disappointed in you if you reveal our special secret to anyone. And you don’t want to disappoint daddy, do you?” He very much didn’t want to disappoint daddy. “That’s good. Daddy loves you more than anything. But daddy can’t love a traitor who can’t keep secrets. You don’t want daddy to stop loving you, do you?” No. He didn’t want that either. “That’s my special little boy. I’d be so sad. I’d have to give you over to the CPS and the police. Those are mean, <em>mean</em> people. And you’d never get to see daddy or Dean ever again. Hush, baby boy. Don’t cry. As long as you don’t reveal our secret you can stay with daddy and Dean forever. Doesn’t that sound good?” It did. “I’ve got some chocolate stashed away just for you. Do you want some?” He did. “Don’t tell Dean. He’d want some too, but this is only for my special little boy.”</p>
<p>As time passes even wretched things become the norm. What would be considered normal turns into something alien, hard to grasp as something else than a foreign concept. He didn’t think of himself as stunted or damaged. He’d drift into dreamworlds sometimes, and some jokes or things that horrified others passed him right by.</p>
<p>He did well in school, thanks to dad. Dad read books to him that are meant for children older than himself. It lit a fire in him, a drive to hear more. But since dad would only read a chapter or two each night he had to learn how to read himself. He wanted more. The stories dad read were all about kids in horrible orphanages, or that were abused by their parents, or forced into slavery. Dad pointed out how lucky he was to have dad. Unlike Cinderella, he didn’t need a prince to save him, since daddy loved him so much and took so well care of him. Unlike the children in the attic, dad would never lock him up. He agreed. He was lucky. He thought he was. His dad and brother loved him very much and he had no trouble making friends in any of the new schools. He wasn’t ‘Mister Popular’ like Dean. He didn’t have to be. He had books. Besides, the other kids were strange, and he didn’t feel like he fit in even if they welcomed him.</p>
<p>The worst thing he knew was to make dad disappointed. Anytime dad would give him that disappointed look he’d freak out. The anxiety would crawl all over his insides. He was so scared dad would stop loving him and give him away. He knew how to make it up to dad. He knew what to do to make dad like him again. He was getting really good at it and all he ever wanted was to please.</p>
<p>Funny thing is, whatever he read or what other people said, he didn’t really get that something was wrong. It was like his mind just grazed over that part without seeing it whenever topics about this came up. It wasn’t until he was twelve that he realised that something might be amiss. And that was because of Dean.</p>
<p>Dean was sixteen at the time. He came home one night sad and pissed off. “It’s not like I care, anyway. All I wanted was a fucking BJ. I don’t give a shit about her as a person.” He thought Dean was lying. Dean seemed genuinely sad about the rejection. But maybe he wasn’t? Maybe he just wanted a BJ like he said? There was an easy solution to that. He lay awake thinking about it. They were sharing a room at that time. They didn’t always. New towns, new houses or motels. But now they were. It wasn’t so hard to slip over to Dean’s bed and give him what he wanted. After all, he knew how to do it and do it well.</p>
<p>Dean woke up just when he was about to come. Dean doesn’t quite realise what’s going on before he’s emptied.</p>
<p>He’d expected gratitude. He hadn’t expected the look of sheer horror on Dean’s face, nor to be pushed off or Dean rolling out of bed and starting to pace. “Jeezus fucking Christ, Sammy! What the hell?!? What the fuck? Why did you do that? Shitshitshit! Fuck, Sammy! What the fuck is <em>wrong</em> with you?!”</p>
<p>He rolled into a ball, crying. Dean wanted a BJ. He knew how to give one, so he did. He wanted to do something nice so Dean would be happy again. And now Dean’s angry and crying too and he’s so, so sorry for making Dean upset.</p>
<p>Dean went to his knees in front of him, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch a shoulder. “Fuck sake, Sammy. That’s so fucking fucked up. Hey, hey. Don’t cry. I won’t give you shit for being into guys or anything. I won’t say you’re too young cuz I was about your age when I got it on with girls, but <em>fuck</em>, Sam. You don’t do that shit with family. That’s just plain <em>wrong</em>. You get that, right?”</p>
<p>He cried harder. He didn’t get it. He’s so very sorry. Dean hugged him, terrified. “Hey, I forgive you, okay? Just never do it again. It’s not only wrong, it’s illegal within the family. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, you’re just a bit slow, that’s all. We’ll forget it ever happened, okay? I won’t tell anyone.” Dean comforted him, rocked him until he stopped crying. But Dean was still shook up. When they’d been quiet for a while Dean bit his lip and hesitantly started to ask questions. “Um… like, I don’t really want to say this, but <em>fuck</em>, Sammy. You, uh, you knew what you were doin’.” He was good at it, wasn’t he? “Yeah…” Dean agreed very reluctantly. “Where’d you learn that shit, anyway? Was it that boy you were hanging with in Duluth? It’s not… there hasn’t been… I mean, it wasn’t an adult who taught you, was it? No grown man forcin’ you to do that shit?” Dean’s voice was so broken by horror, his heart hammering so hard.</p>
<p>He lies. Of course it wasn’t. It’s the right answer because Dean relaxed. “Good. Good. Because there’s a lot of fucked up grownups out there. And they’d jump at a chance to use an innocent boy like you. They’d tempt you with stuff, money, whatever, to have you do what you just did and it’s so fucking wrong and perverted it scares the hell outta me, thinking that they’d bad-touch you like that. Anybody does, you come straight to me and I’ll fuck them up, you hear? You tell me straight away, okay?”</p>
<p>He lies again. Promises.</p>
<p>Dean talked to him then. Told him about STDs, condoms, about wrongs and rights he had no idea about. That’s when he first understands that when dad’s on top of him, telling him he’s daddy’s special little boy and that they must keep it a secret, it’s because it’s wrong. It’s wrong for dad to love him and it’s wrong that he’s so good at pleasing. He is wrong. A freak. Something ugly. It’s not dad giving him up he must fear, but the world taking him away from dad and Dean. It’s also eye-opening information that other people might want to give him stuff and will think he’s special, not wrong and ugly. All because he knows how to do this stuff.</p>
<p>After that, he becomes aware of how men look at him. He learns how to lie really well. When he’s thirteen he runs into someone who looks at him like dad does for the first time. It earns him fifty bucks that he spends on books, then lies about having gotten them from a friend from school. It’s just the beginning. Once he knows what to look for there’s at least one in every town. Big cities are better, there are more of them. Some want him to be innocent and others want him to tease or beg for it. He learns how to play a virgin and how to act experienced. It gets harder to find friends his own age. Apparently, he’s odd. It doesn’t matter, he has his books, his family, and anything he wants as long as he plays his cards right. Sometimes he doesn’t get anything in return. Of course, he’s disappointed when that happens. But he’s a good boy. He knows his place. As long as they’re pleased, he did well.</p>
<p>He does exceptionally well in school. So well it gets boring. Dad helps him then. Between one town and another, two years are added to the legal papers. Another secret to keep. School’s fun again when he’s jumped up to harder classes. Dad’s so proud of him.</p>
<p>He wants to go to college and to become a writer, so he works his ass off in school without telling anyone of his dreams. Dad’s pleased until the day he shows him an admittance letter from a college and asks to go. Dad’s furious. “You want to <em>abandon us</em>? After all I’ve done for you? You ungrateful little shit! You’re mine, and you aren’t going anywhere!” That’s the first time dad lays a hard hand on him. Bruised and crying, he vows it will be the last time too. He won’t take that. Not from <em>dad</em>. So when a second letter comes, granting him a full ride, he doesn’t hesitate. He packs a bag and hitchhikes to the other side of the country, all the way to California without telling either dad or Dean. He does what he has to do to get there. At sixteen, going on seventeen, he knows how to lie and he knows how to please. Not everybody’s nice to him. But he can take it. He’s a good boy, after all.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Through this fic, I often write long, serious chapter notes at the end so it won't pass you by when a character is displaying toxic behavior, or why something is good or bad.</p>
<p> <b>I'm not a professional therapist and I don't have a formal education specializing in psychology.</b><br/><tt>(*But I'm currently studying to become an assistant nurse so the physical explanation of what happens in the body I might give is based on formal education.)</tt></p>
<p>I'm discussing these topics based on a deep-founded interest in the topic, my own experiences, experiences by people around me, hours and hours of research, reading articles and reports, self-help books, educational books, witness accounts, talking to people, going to therapy myself,  watching YouTube videos, and documentaries. I haven't done this research solely for this fic. I've always had an interest in human behavior and my interest in psychology exploded when I took a course in the subject in high school, back in '97. Then later came my own crash into a deep depression, my fight to climb out of it and to break unhealthy, deep-rooted thinking patterns, get to know myself, and find a healthy mental balance. I've done a lot of research for most of my fics and I try to also look up sources that stand in opposition to my own findings or opinions on things. My special interests are emotional childhood trauma, PTSD, and substance-abuse-related problems, since these have been major parts of my or people I love's lives. </p>
<p>I feel it's important to mention, that when it comes to mental health, there is no one true way. We're all different, have different experiences and priorities, and handle things differently. Therapy, group therapy, self-help books, medication; what's right for one person might not be right for someone else. If one can't afford to go to a doctor or get therapy (that gave me a headache, while looking into how to go about getting therapy in the US since that isn't an issue in Sweden), one can still change destructive habits and thoughts, develop better boundaries and communication.</p>
<p>This is not a quick-fix kind of story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. BRADY</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's in college. He lives in a dorm and shares a room with Tyson Brady. Brady always tries to coax him to hang out. Once Sam comes along to party with Brady, they get closer, and Sam starts to have confusing feelings he doesn't understand.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No major warnings for this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><hr/>
<p>“Come on, Sam. There are other things in life than studying, you know?”</p>
<p>“You can go without me, Brade. You’re not my babysitter,” Sam tells his dorm roommate Tyson Brady without looking up from his laptop.</p>
<p>Brady pushes Sam’s laptop shut, getting a bitchface from Sam that he completely ignores. “I’m serious, Winchester. You’re making the rest of us look bad. You’re ahead, for Christ sake! One night, it’s all I’m asking. Let’s chase some skirts, get hammered. You know, what college is all about?”</p>
<p>Sam smirks and lifts an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure we’re here to learn, but okay. Besides, I’m here on a scholarship. I don’t want to disappoint the people paying for my education.”</p>
<p>Brady rolls his eyes. “That would be impossible with that computerized brain of yours. It’s not normal, memorizing the textbooks as you do. Let alone reading at that speed. You could kick back for weeks and nobody would notice any slack in your performance because you’re so far ahead. Come on, Sammy. Don’t disappoint <i>me</i>. You never party with me and we’re supposed to be friends, right?”</p>
<p>Sam squirms. “I guess I could take a night off…”</p>
<p>Brady fist-pumps. “Right on! That’s what I wanted to hear. Have you got a fake ID?”</p>
<p>It’s one of the most ironic questions Sam can think of. “Yeah. I’ve got one.” He has one with a bogus name that claims he’s 21. But his ‘real’ ID is also fake. He tries not to smirk when he answers and fails. </p>
<p>Brady grins. “I knew you weren’t just a big nerd.”</p><hr/>
<p>“Where are we going?” Sam asks as they get into the cab.</p>
<p>“There’s this club by the docks. Cheap booze, lax ID control, and mixed age groups. Oh, and both Jess and Sarah have been asking about you. I think they’re coming so whatever your type is, you’ve got it made. What is your type, anyway?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“No? I like redheads. It’s not like I’d turn down a chick for having the wrong hair color. But redheads, though.” Brady whistles. “Red hot.”</p>
<p>Brady keeps talking. He’s a pretty high energy guy. He parties too much and then panic-studies. Brady reminds him a bit of Dean. He makes friends easily and introduces Sam to people like he’s afraid Sam will feel left out. It’s a misconception. Sam doesn’t feel like he fits in, but he doesn’t feel left out either. Unlike what most people think, Sam isn’t shy. He prefers to listen rather than to talk. He doesn’t demand attention. In high school that had been a bit of a problem. Here in college, it isn’t. He’s nobody’s enemy and his ability to appear genuinely interested in whatever the person talking to him is saying makes people like him. His academic ardor isn’t looked down upon by his peers like it was in high school.</p>
<p>Any time Sam needs something he goes out to find someone who will get it for him. He’s got nice clothes, a good laptop, and pocket money. This is a big city. It’s easy to find someone who wants him. It doesn’t always pan out like he hoped it would, but that's okay. He doesn’t understand Brady and the other guys. They always talk about sex as if it's hard to get. Maybe it’s different with girls? He's not sure. Girls are complicated and he doesn’t get what they want from him. </p>
<p>There’s a lot of people at the club. They get a beer and a couple of shots and talk. When Brady is in the company of several guys he talks about pussy, when he talks to Sam alone he talks about girls. “...and Melissa. She’s really nice, man. Kind of girl you’d be proud to take home to your mom, if you catch my drift.”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. “I don’t have a mom. She’s dead.”</p>
<p>Brady chokes on his beer. “Damn, Sammy. Way to be a mood killer.”</p>
<p>Sam looks down at his glass with a lopsided smile. “I did it again, huh?” Sometimes he said the wrong things without meaning to. Telling people your mom died when you were a child is one of those things. It makes people uncomfortable. “But I’ve told you. It’s okay. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. She died when I was only six months old. I never knew her. I’ve never missed her. Dad loved me and took care of me. What I mean is, I wouldn’t know what requirements a mom would have for a girlfriend. That’s all.”</p>
<p>Brady blinks at him for a beat while he rewires his brain into the right mindset to handle Sam. He’s a good guy when it comes to this. “Uh. I guess it depends on your mom. But in general, I mean a nice girl that’s pretty, happy, polite and helpful. That dresses nicely without showing too much skin. Who isn’t a slut.”</p>
<p>“But you like sluts?”</p>
<p>“I like all kinds of girls, Sam, but parents don’t. They want a daughter-in-law to be dependable and faithful. You introduce your girlfriend they’ll want somebody who will be a good mother to your babies, not someone who’s a wildcat in bed. Of course, preferably she should be both. But moms don’t want to know about what their kids get up to in bed.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know <i>that</i>. Dad wanted me to be his little innocent boy forever, I think.”</p>
<p>Brady chuckles. “That―”</p>
<p>“Heyyy. Sam and Brade! How on earth did you manage to lure Sam away from his books on a school night, Brady?”</p>
<p>“He guilt tripped me,” Sam answers in Brady’s stead as a couple of other guys from school join their table. The mood changes with their addition. Gets rawer, less personal. Sam goes back to listening rather than talking.</p>
<p>“...boobs this big, I swear. I’m telling you, man, best titty fuck in my life. She was one ugly bitch but it was fucking worth it,” Steve says while demonstrating how big some girl’s boobs were.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I prefer smaller boobs than that. Ones that fit perfectly in the cup of your hand,” another guy chips in.</p>
<p>“Boobs are nice, by all means. But I don’t care for the size of their boobs. As long as they’ve got a tight little ass,” Brady interjects.</p>
<p>“Fuck no. I like ‘em with large asses. The bigger the better,” Ennis adds to the discussion. “How about you Sam?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs and sips his beer. “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on. You must know. Like, what was your greatest lay? What did she look like?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs again and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Wait. You’re a <i>virgin</i>?” Brady exclaims in shock.</p>
<p>“No. I didn’t say that.”</p>
<p>“So you have had sex with a girl?” Brady asks in confusion.</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Jerking off doesn’t make you less of a virgin,” Steve jokes laughingly.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>There’s only one guy in the group that seems to follow, and that’s Ennis. “So you’re gay?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it with a girl.”</p>
<p>Brady’s gaping at him now. The others too, catching up. “Um. But you <i>have</i> fucked a guy?” Ennis wants clarified.</p>
<p>“Sure. Loads of times.” Understatement. Sam’s amused by the stir this reveal seems to cause.</p>
<p>“Dude. Then you’re gay,” the nameless guy states as if Sam’s dense.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t have to be,” Ennis protests.</p>
<p>“Yeah, he does. You fuck girls, you’re straight. You fuck guys, your a fag. It’s that simple,” Steve insists.</p>
<p>“No it’s not. He might be bi or pan or whatever. He never said he didn’t <i>want</i> to fuck girls,” Ennis argues.</p>
<p>They all turn to stare at him then, waiting for clarification. Sam sniggers. “Look. Girls are hard. I don’t understand them. If I knew they wanted me, I’d sleep with them, I’d do it. Guys are much easier to understand.”</p>
<p>“So all the girls that have been throwing themselves at you… you didn’t realise they were interested?” Brady asks in bafflement and Sam shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Oh this is fucking gross,” Steve says, eyes wide as if he’s coming to a realisation. “You’ve seen me naked in the shower.”</p>
<p>“Not much to see,” Sam deadpans dryly.</p>
<p>“Ooo. <i>Burn</i>,” Ennis coos in delight.</p>
<p>“But if you’re into guys, how come you’ve never come on to us?” Nameless guy (Sam really wishes he would remember the guy’s name) asks.</p>
<p>“None of you have ever given any indication that you wanted me to. I don’t put my dick where it isn’t welcome,” Sam states. Their discussion is cut short then by several girls coming to join them. The girls only hear the last sentence.</p>
<p>“That’s what I’d like to hear,” Sarah purrs and sits down beside Sam, the other girls sitting down beside other guys around the table.</p>
<p>Ennis leans in to whisper to Sam. “In case you don’t get it, Sarah’s been pining for you since she first laid eyes on you. So here’s your chance.”</p>
<p>The topic of Sam’s sexuality is dropped then. In the ensuing chatter with so many people Sam doesn’t notice how quiet Brady goes, nor does he note the way Brady glances at him. Out of curiosity Sam puts a hand discreetly on Sarah’s thigh while they talk. She gives him a secret little smile. As more alcohol flows, Sam gets bolder. It seems really important for the rest of the guys, that he sleeps with a girl judging by their comments and looks. At one point he leans close and whispers “Do you want me to fuck you?” in Sarah’s ear.</p>
<p>Sarah makes an indignant sound and shoves Sam, then gets up and storms away. Sam gets up and follows her outside. “Sarah, wait up! I’m sorry!”</p>
<p>She whirls around, furious. “What kind of girl do you think I am, Sam?”</p>
<p>“A smart, funny, beautiful girl. Look, Sarah, I have no idea what I’m doing, okay? The other guys said you were interested in me that way. They could have been jerking me around, because I honestly can’t tell. I thought you just wanted to be friends. I didn’t ask to insult you or insinuate that you’re easy. I asked because like I said earlier, I don’t put my dick where it isn’t wanted. I mean that. I just wanted to know I was reading the signals right.” Puppy eyes. He knows how to do those. They worked on dad and Dean, on countless strangers.</p>
<p>They work on Sarah too. He said the right thing. Her anger melts away. “You mean, all this time I’ve been flirting with you, you haven’t understood?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head and rubs his neck. “No. I’m sorry. You probably want someone more experienced. I’ve never even kissed a girl.”</p>
<p>“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. You’re so… so…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead she walks up to him, puts her hands on his chest and smiles coyly. “In that case, Sam. The answer to your question, is yes.”</p>
<p>Sam doesn’t notice Brady coming outside to watch them kiss with an unreadable expression.</p><hr/>
<p>Brady’s quieter than usual the following days. He doesn’t walk around shirtless as much, and slips under his cover as soon as he’s in his underwear. Sam’s not bothered. He acts as usual. Sarah comes to get him for a date a few days later. It’s not so much a date as it’s a lesson for Sam on how to please a woman. He likes her, but he likes her in the way he likes most people who’re nice. Sex with a woman is different, and sure, boobs are nice. But Sam doesn’t find it better or worse than sex with a guy. </p>
<p>“Are you and Sarah an item now?” Brady asks the following day when Sam’s tapping away at his laptop.</p>
<p>“I hope not.”</p>
<p>“What? You don’t like her?”</p>
<p>“Sure I do. She’s a great person.”</p>
<p>“And very beautiful,” Brady adds.</p>
<p>“That too,” Sam agrees without looking up.</p>
<p>“But what? You prefer guys?”</p>
<p>“I don’t prefer anyone. I like her, I just don’t want to be tied up.”</p>
<p>“Because there are too many beautiful girls out there and you’ve just gotten a taste of pussy?”</p>
<p>Sam rolls his eyes and looks over at Brady with a flat look. “People’s beauty is hardly a measurement of whether they want to sleep with me or not. Look. It’s no big deal. Sex is no big deal for me.”</p>
<p>“What about love? You ever been in love?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“If you had been, you’d know.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? Then what does it feel like?”</p>
<p>“It’s the best and the worst feeling in the world. You’re walking on clouds when they as much as look at you, and despair when they don’t.”</p>
<p>“Then, no. I’ve never been in love.”</p>
<p>Brady’s quiet for a while, lost in thought. Then, “What do you think of when you jerk off?” he asks curiously.</p>
<p>That isn’t a question Sam’s prepared for. “Um… I don’t jerk off very often. If I’m horny I have sex. But when I do… I don’t. I don’t really think of anything except how my hand feels.”</p>
<p>“No porn? No fantasies about people?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head.</p>
<p>“You're weird.”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”</p><hr/>
<p>Sarah doesn't feel like Sam does about the two of them as a couple. He makes her cry. Jess is the next girl he's with, with the same results. They want more than casual. He breaks their hearts and doesn't get why it's such a big deal. He meets a guy named Benny in one of his classes. A couple of hot nights and the results are the same. Benny doesn't cry the way the girls do, but he is sad and Sam has a ball of anxiety in his belly. He can't please them. They want something that he doesn't know how to give. He stops sleeping with peers. Older men or nameless strangers are easier. He knows what they want. Has what they’re searching for.</p>
<p>“It's so frustrating! It's like they can feel how desperate I am and therefore they turn me down,” Brady complains and sits down on his bed with a heavy sigh after having struck out with several girls this last week. He’s a good looking guy. He usually doesn’t have trouble getting any with how outgoing he is.</p>
<p>Sam can make exceptions from his own rules. “I can blow you if you want?”</p>
<p>“What? You going to walk around telling people we're boyfriends then? Say I'm a fairy like you?” Brady snipes defensively with a horrified expression. </p>
<p>“If that's what you want. But no. I just figured, we're friends. I could help you take the edge off. If you don't want anyone to know I won't tell them. Believe me, I can keep secrets.” </p>
<p>“You just gonna blow me because we're friends? Like copying notes when I missed a lecture?” He still looks upset.</p>
<p>“If you want to. It's no big deal.”</p>
<p>“Like hell it is. I'm not gonna blow you in return,” Brady states resolutely.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “I'm not asking you to, dumbass. I'm not hitting on you, Brade. It's not personal. You brought pizza last week when I was cramming lit. You take care of me. I'm only offering to do the same.”</p>
<p>“Pizza and Red Bull isn't the same as sex, Sammy!”</p>
<p>Suddenly anxiety buzzes under Sam's skin. He did it again. Said something stupid. It’s clear in the what-the-fuck expression on Brady’s face. There’s something Brady knows that he doesn’t, and he’s wrong, bad, a freak. It's like with Dean. The amusement melts away from his face. He averts his eyes to look at the laptop screen. “A simple no would have sufficed.” Rejection. When did rejection last make him feel nauseous? Dean. He likes Brady. Cares what Brady thinks of him. He just wanted to do some good. Help out. He doesn’t care if he actually blows Brady or not. That wasn’t the point.</p>
<p>Sam isn’t looking at Brady. He doesn’t want to see what he’s thinking. Brady’s chest is heaving. He can see that from the corner of his eye. He turns his swivel chair enough to block Brady out completely. Focuses on his writing. ‘...<tt>here, little baby bird. How soft and downy you are. Such a special little bird. I’ve got a nest just for you,” cooed the owl. Little Bird was tired and afraid. The owl looked so big and strong. ‘He’ll protect me,’ the baby bird tho</tt>’ Sam taps out before Brady’s quiet voice makes him look up from his personal project again. “What did you say?” </p>
<p>“I said, I, uh, I didn’t say <i>no</i>,” Brady repeats marginally louder.</p>
<p>Sam spins the chair around to look at him. Brady’s shoulders have lowered. He looks vastly insecure, rubbing his own hand where it’s pressed between his knees. “Brade. It’s up to you. I don’t mind. You want some relief, I’m here for you. That’s all,” Sam reassures.</p>
<p>“I… I’ve never been with a guy like that.”</p>
<p>Sam can’t help his own snort. “Yeah. I figured.”</p>
<p>“Would you really do it?”</p>
<p>“If you want me to, yes.”</p>
<p>“But do <i>you</i> want to?”</p>
<p>The worst thing about Brady is that he always wants to know what Sam likes and wants. Those are so hard questions to answer. They don’t matter, but answer the wrong thing and people are disappointed. ‘I don’t know’ doesn’t always cut it for Brady. “I’m not going to be sad if you say no. But I like you. You’re my best friend.” It’s a bullshit answer that doesn’t mean anything. It’s <i>true</i>. But bullshit all the same. </p>
<p>“So what then? You’d just get on your knees and, um,...”</p>
<p>Sam smiles a lopsided smile. “That’s how it’s generally done, yeah.”</p>
<p>“But what if I don’t like it? What if I can’t get it up? What if I want you to stop? Are you going to get hurt by it? What will happen to our friendship?”</p>
<p>“If you can’t get it up or don’t like it, I’ll stop. It beats the purpose, doesn’t it, if you don’t like it? The point is to make you feel good and take the edge off so you can get laid. I’ll still be your friend. Nothing’s going to change, Brade. Either you like it or you don’t.”</p>
<p>Brady swallows visibly. He almost looks afraid. It’s strange. He takes a deep breath. “O-okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay as in okay you understand, or as in okay you want me to blow you?” Sam wants clarified. He doesn't want another Dean situation where he understands something wrong.</p>
<p>“B-blow me?” Brady says uncertainly.</p>
<p>Sam smiles and gets to his feet. He doesn’t get why Brady looks so scared and vulnerable when he approaches, but he trusts Brady to tell him to stop. He sinks to his knees in front of Brady, puts his hands on Brady’s knees and pushes them apart so he can edge himself closer inside of them. Brady holds his breath as Sam undoes his belt, unzips his zipper, pulls down his pants enough to take Brady’s soft dick out. He looks up to meet Brady’s wide-eyed gaze. “Say stop and I’ll stop, okay?”</p>
<p>Brady bites his lip and nods. His cheeks are red and his pulse is pounding so hard Sam can see it jumping on his throat. It completely eludes Sam why. It’s one of those things he doesn’t get about people. Even that first time with a stranger back when he was thirteen the man had looked afraid, pulse hammering despite excitement. Sam doesn’t dwell on it. He bends his head down and sucks Brady’s dick into his mouth without any hesitation. Brady’s worry about not getting hard was completely unnecessary. He’d started to fill at the first touch of Sam’s hand, and in a matter of seconds, he’s hard. Sam does his thing. Pays attention to Brady’s gasps and tremors to figure out what he requires and how he likes to be pleased. It’s going well, yet, a short moment into it, Brady stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, Sam, stop. I can’t. It feels wrong.”</p>
<p>Sam’s a bit disappointed. He is. He’s kind of enjoying himself and he likes Brady. Once he had Brady in his mouth he’d felt a bit of selfish contentment. But it’s okay. It’s not for his sake he’s doing this. He pops off and looks up. “Having a guy doing this isn’t your thing, huh?”</p>
<p>“It’s not that. I. I talk a big game, okay? About fucking pussies to left and right and not giving a shit. But that’s not. I can’t. I don’t feel good about that shit. I need intimacy. At least a little bit. I can’t do it like this, this mechanical thing. Not with girls, not with you. It makes me feel like a lowlife user.”</p>
<p>“Intimacy?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you know. Kissing, caressing, eye contact. That kind of shit.” Make it sweet. Sam gets that. Brady wants to be Daddy’s special little boy. </p>
<p>“Okay. So you want me to stop or to kiss you?”</p>
<p>“What do you want?”</p>
<p>“I want you to enjoy this.”</p>
<p>Brady bites his lip and hesitates, so Sam reaches up and hooks a hand behind his neck. He pulls Brady in, stopping before his mouth meets Brady’s to meet his gaze and get confirmation that he’s doing the right thing. Brady licks his lips, parting them. Sam cups Brady’s cheek gently then kisses him softly and waits a beat, just sharing breaths with him to see how Brady likes it. Brady closes the gap for another kiss, this one less chaste. It’s with a jolt of surprise Sam discovers how much he likes it. Kissing Brady is a bit like he'd imagine kissing Dean would be like. Really nice. The kisses turn less chaste, hands more explorative. Brady doesn’t touch his dick but he gets hard anyway. That’s nice. Rare, and nice. Sam wonders why that is? Maybe it’s as simple as them being good friends. </p>
<p>Hot sweet kisses, groping and shy fumbles, the next time Sam reaches Brady’s cock with his mouth Brady doesn’t stop him. Brady’s hand hover over Sam's head. Sam grabs his wrist to pull it down into his hair, giving permission that Brady for some reason seems to need. Sam keeps up as much eye contact as he can. Shows how much he’s enjoying himself. It’s nothing new to have to do that. It’s more uncommon not to have to fake it.</p>
<p>Brady’s orgasm takes Brady by surprise. “Oh, shit! Sammy, I’m sooorr―” he tries to apologise for coming in Sam’s mouth. “―fuckshit<i>Saaaaam</i>!” Sam doesn’t want apologies. He wants it to be good for Brady so he milks him through gasps and spasms, swallowing every drop he can get. Then he tucks Brady’s dick back and looks up expectantly. “I'm sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to come in your mouth,” Brady pants. </p>
<p>Sam’s forehead creases in concern. “Oh. But I thought…?” He tilts his head in question. “Would you rather have come on my face?”</p>
<p>“What? No! I―“ Brady pulls him up to sit beside him on the bed and kisses him. “Shit, Sammy. You really okay with me coming in your mouth like that?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Why shouldn’t I be?” The answer should always be ‘yes’. <i>Always</i>. ‘Do you like that, boy? Want this cock inside of you? Want me to fuck you harder? Does it feel good? You're hungry for it, aren’t you? Want that ass spanked? Want your skin marked up with my come? Does it hurt? Can you take it? Want to gag on this fat dick?’ <i>Yes yes yes yes</i>. These are not multiple choice questions. Saying no never has good consequences. </p>
<p>It’s the right answer again. Honestly, Brady looks more like he’s just been smacked with a board than as if he's received a BJ. Dazed, distraught, confused, awed. “You won't tell anyone, will you?” </p>
<p>“Of course not.” Another question with only one answer. No. Nobody can know. He’s familiar with that.</p>
<p>Brady kisses Sam again, hesitates, then slides off the bed to sit between Sam's legs. Sam follows his movement with a confused gaze. Brady stares at the persistent tenting in Sam's sweatpants. He bites his lip unsurely. “I don’t know how to do this. I'll probably suck at it.”</p>
<p>“Do what?”</p>
<p>“Blow you.”</p>
<p>“But you said you weren’t going to do that?”</p>
<p>“I can’t just let you blow me and then leave! What kind of asshole do you think I am? That’s a massive boner you’ve got there. Don’t you <i>want</i> me to take care of it?”</p>
<p>The anxiety comes back, crawling uncomfortably. The yes rule doesn’t apply here because for some reason Brady’s already upset, but he’d made it so clear that he didn’t want to blow Sam, yet he’s the one instigating it. The idea was to help Brady out, not impose a geas on him. Sam doesn’t know the right answer. What does Brady want him to answer? What what what? He gives Brady a lopsided little smirk. “Brade. I <i>like</i> giving head.” Something about that is right, because Brady relaxes a notch. “Do you think I’m the kind of asshole that would demand you do something you don’t want to?” he parrots, twisting Brady’s words in a way that can’t be conceived as yes or no, putting the decision back on Brady’s shoulders.</p>
<p>“No. Of course not. Of course not. I…” Brady hesitates and stares at the tent in Sam’s pants for a drawn out moment. “You’re not going to be mad at me if I don’t do anything?”</p>
<p>“No.” Sam smiles reassuringly.</p>
<p>Another moment while Brady’s on his knees with his hands on Sam’s knees, a thumb stroking back and forth on a knee as if to self-comfort. “C-can I see it?”</p>
<p>Easy question. It translates as ‘show it to me’. Sam hitches his thumbs in his pants and pulls down pants and boyish underwear to his thigh, his slightly crooked, leaking dick springing free, standing proud and heavy against his belly. Too big these days. He wishes it hadn’t grown so large. He wishes he hadn’t grown so tall. Still growing. Makes it harder to find those who want him. Who see him as special instead of a freak. But they’re out there. Always.</p>
<p>Brady stares transfixed, licks his lips nervously. Looks up, wordlessly asks something Sam doesn’t get. Looks back at Sam’s erection. “Can I touch it?” he asks in a rough whisper.</p>
<p>It’s a given. Sam doesn’t get why he’s asking. “Yes. If you want to.”</p>
<p>Another moment of hesitation Brady reaches out to carefully wrap his hand around Sam’s length, pulling the foreskin up and down experimentally. Feels good. The other hand comes to lift Sam’s tee, then slide down to caress his balls. “You’re shaved.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“It’s… it makes me a bit uncomfortable, to be honest. It makes you look younger, like a high schooler or something. I know you’re only a year younger than me, but I feel like I’m being a creep,” Brady flusters and gives a little rueful laugh. His hand moves with greater surety on Sam’s dick. “Sorry. I just… why do you shave?”</p>
<p>“They like it.”</p>
<p>“Who are ‘they’?”</p>
<p>“All of them.”</p>
<p>This makes Brady give him a look that’s oddly concerned. Sam pulls down his tee to cover his lack of pubic hair, trying not to squirm. “Look, Brade, you don’t want this. I’m making you uncomfortable. If y―”</p>
<p>“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean― I’m sorry okay? Can I, can I try to blow you?”</p>
<p>Sam relaxes. He hadn’t realised how much he’d tensed up. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got to tell me when it feels good and when it doesn’t, okay?” </p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>Brady is careful, trying kitten-licks at first, then gets bolder. Sam does like he’s told, giving Brady instructions as the blond boy fumbles his way through the blowjob. He warns when he’s about to come and Brady pops off and leans away, using only his hand to get Sam through it. He sits up beside Sam afterwards and kisses him again.</p>
<p>“Thanks. That was nice. Hope it’ll be enough to help you seem less desperate tonight so you’ll finally get laid,” Sam says, breaking the kiss.</p>
<p>Brady seems taken aback for a beat. “Uh, yeah. Hope so. Right. I should better go now or I’ll be late, I guess?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.” Sam gets up and goes to fetch a tissue. He cleans himself up and sits down by his laptop. Brady watches him with an unreadable expression before getting up from the bed and adjusting his clothes.</p>
<p>“Right. Okay. I’ll be going, then.”</p>
<p>“Have fun,” Sam bids him and goes back to his writing. ‘...<tt>ught and followed the owl to the hollowed tree he lived in. The owl fed him and put his wing around little bird. ‘Go to sleep now, little bird,’ the owl said. Warm, sated and comfortable, little bird did. He woke up to pain in his back and turned his head to find the owl picking downy feathers from his rump...</tt>’ Sam doesn’t pay attention to Brady weighing from leg to leg hesitantly for a long moment before he finally leaves. Brady doesn’t come home that night, which is good. It means Sam helped. Yet somehow he ends up feeling anxious later that night. It feels like he’s done something wrong. He wonders why that is.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam opens his eyes and peers towards the bed on the other side of the room. “Dude. I can feel you watching me. What do you want, Brade?”</p>
<p>Brady shifts under the covers but doesn’t answer. Not at first. “Could you…? No. Nevermind. It’s too much to ask. It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. Go back to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Tell me what you want,” Sam persists. Last time Brady acted this insecure was weeks ago, when Sam and he traded blowjobs. </p>
<p>Brady lifts his blanket, holding it up like an invitation. Sam knows what that means. He grabs his pillow, slides out of bed and pads over there, easily slipping down beside Brady.</p>
<p>“You want another BJ?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>“Melissa dumped me. I don’t want to sleep alone.”</p>
<p>“Big spoon or little spoon?”</p>
<p>“Little spoon?”</p>
<p>“Turn over.” When Brady has turned his back Sam slots himself against his back. It feels nice. Doesn’t take long before he’s asleep.</p>
<p>The next night’s the same, and the night after that. Something changes between them and Sam can’t tell what. Brady’s just acting slightly different. Sam’s laptop breaks down so he spends the next night with Mr. Roman. Roman owns a chain of electronics stores and is happy to provide a new laptop. Mr. Roman wants to be called daddy and wants Sam to be loud and grateful. ‘That’s it, boy, make some noise. Let daddy hear how much you like it. If you’re good daddy will let you come. Would you like that?’ <i>Yes yes yes</i>. Brady’s not home when he comes home late the next morning. Sam goes to class, then decides to have lunch at a café nearby. A car pulls up beside him when he’s walking there. It’s Zachariah. He’s not nice, but he pays well. Sam doesn’t come home that night either. The walk home is long. He’s sore and still hasn't eaten. Another car stops. Mr. Roman again. ‘You don’t look so well, boy.’ Sam’s stomach rumbles. ‘Are you hungry?’ Yes, he is. ‘Get in.’ Roman cooks for him. He's nice. Demanding in his own way, but nice. Likes to take care of his boy. There’s no pain, no belt, no force. He makes Sam wish he was smaller and younger to better please Roman. Not that Mr. Roman complains. As long as Sam’s suitably grateful. Sam stays another night.</p>
<p>“Where the hell have you been? I've been worried!” Brady yells at him when he comes home. Brady’s only wearing a towel, hair wet, eyes wide, deep scowl, lips pinched.</p>
<p>“Why? You've never been before.”</p>
<p>“You've never been gone for days on end before. You could have fucking called. Or texted. Is that too much to ask?”</p>
<p>It’s bad, because Brady’s angry with him, and Brady’s <i>never</i> angry with him. It stresses Sam out. He’s been gone for days on end before. Maybe Brady’s never noticed? Or maybe he’s angry because he wanted to bring a girl home, but didn’t because of Sam, and that’s why he wants Sam to text? That’s probably it. “Okay. I’ll text the next time. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”</p>
<p>He’s too stressed to remember that Brady wants intimacy - wants to be seduced. He just wants Brady to be happy again. He takes three long strides into the room and sinks to his knees in front of Brady, tugging at the towel to make it fall off. He doesn’t wait before sucking Brady into his mouth, doesn’t register the first voiced protests - his mind’s too full of fear that Brady won’t want to be friends anymore, won’t want to share a room, will stay mad. Brady gets hard fast and whatever Brady’s saying dies on his lips when Sam remembers that Brade wants eye contact and looks up. After that the only words that spill are “Jesus, Sammy. <i>Saaaam!</i> Dear God, Sammy!”</p>
<p>Afterwards Brady pulls him up, hugs him, kisses him passionately, tugs at his clothes to get them off. Sam helps, plays along. Both naked they tumble onto Brady’s bed. Legs entwined holding on hard, Brady can’t seem to stop kissing him. Sam mirrors him, always a bit unsure of what Brady wants, it seems like the right thing to do. From shy smiles getting shy smiles to desperate embracing. If Brady does it, so does Sam. Then Brady reaches down to wrap his hand around Sam’s dick. “Brade. I was making it up to <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>Brady lets go, strokes hair out of Sam’s face, kisses him, bites his own lip, eyes so blue. “I was so worried, Sam. I kept imagining something horrible had happened to you. That you’d been robbed or stabbed or something. Where did you go?”</p>
<p>Sam cards his hand through Brady’s hair, traces his jaw tenderly like Brady likes. “I was horny,” he lies. He knows better than to tell Brady the truth. He knows what he does is considered prostitution and isn’t legal nor considered okay by most people. Well. With Zachariah it’s prostitution. He’s not so sure if it is with Roman, who just gives him stuff he needs, who cooks for him because he noticed he was hungry. Or if it’s prostitution when a guy gives him a lift across half the country. But he <i>is</i> sure that telling the truth is always bad. They want him to keep quiet for a reason.</p>
<p>“Who is he?”</p>
<p>Sam gives Brady a soft smile. “You’re not the only one who wants me to be a secret.”</p>
<p>Brady looks like he’s hiding distress at hearing that. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”</p>
<p>“What for?”</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t have demanded that. It was cruel of me.”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “It’s no big deal.”</p>
<p>“To you, maybe. But this…” he leans in to kiss Sam again, slow and sweet, “...this is life altering for me. Maybe where you’re from being gay or bi is completely okay, but I grew up in a very homophobic family, in an equally homophobic suburb. It’s a huge deal to… it’s a huge deal to realise my best friend’s bi. A huge deal to realise that things I’ve been feeling all my life, that maybe I’ve never been completely straight. That I too am bisexual. It’s huge, because I’ve seen the bullying, the scorn and disgust. I’ve yelled fucking faggot at people, made faces, thinking it gross to suck cock, then realised I liked it when we…” Brady takes a deep breath. “Ever since you casually mentioned that you like guys, my life turned upside down. Then when we gave each other head… There are so many feelings in me, Sam. So much guilt and confusion and… I don’t know. It’s unfair of me to demand that you should hide because <i>I’m</i> having a problem.”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind.”</p>
<p>“Sam. I’ve been a total dick to you lately.”</p>
<p>“You have? I didn’t notice. I <i>have</i> noticed that you always keep us stocked with my favourite soda, and that you’ve started bringing me Starbucks coffee when I’m up late. Those aren’t dick moves.” Sam leans in for another soft kiss. Brady rolls on top of him. They make out and rut against each other and when Sam comes it feels really good. Exceptionally so.</p>
<p>Things change between them again. Sam learns to adjust to Brady’s wants. Brady wants nice things. It starts with a shy kiss when he comes home from class and snowballs from there. Brady takes care of him and he takes care of Brady. That’s not new. What’s new is the sense of selfish contentment he has from being with Brady. How he starts hoping Brady will want to have sex, or will want to kiss for hours instead of studying or going out to party. Brady doesn’t date girls anymore. Sam doesn’t reflect over it more than maybe he’s managed to please Brady enough for him not to need it. Brady starts going to LGBT+ meetings. Brady wants to be fucked as well as fuck. <i>That’s</i> new. Sam hasn’t topped before if you don’t count being with girls. He likes it. And as long as he copies Brady’s behaviour towards him, everything’s fine.</p>
<p>It’s fine, until Sam needs more money. He remembers to text Brady this time.</p>
<p>When he comes home the next day Brady is drunk out of his mind, sprawled atop his bed. “I’ve been kidding myself,” he slurs in lieu of hello. “I thought I was enough. I want to blame you. I really do. But when I think about it, you’ve played with open cards all the way. I just thought we had something. That I was enough.” He’s been crying. Sam can see it even if he isn’t crying now. It’s stressing Sam out, making him nauseous. It’s his fault, somehow. He doesn’t know how, but Brady’s sad and it’s his, his, his fault. It hurts in him. He doesn’t want Brady to be sad. He didn’t want Sarah and Jess to cry either, but Brady’s different. Brady’s important to him. Very important.</p>
<p>“What are you talking about, Brade?”</p>
<p>Brady sits up, body unsteady, gaze focused. “Are you aro, Sam?”</p>
<p>“What’s that?”</p>
<p>“Aromantic. Unable to feel romantic attraction.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. What does romantic attraction feel like?”</p>
<p>“Or you could be poly,” Brady slurs to himself.</p>
<p>“What’s poly?” Sam asks with mounting panic.</p>
<p>“Or is it something else? Have you got some disorder I don’t know about? Asperger's? Autism? What’s <i>fucking wrong with you?</i>” Brady goes on like a freight train.</p>
<p>It’s too much. It’s too much and Sam doesn’t know the answer Brady wants him to give. “I don’t know! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know!” Great. Now he’s crying. Shoulders shaking, chest heaving, eyes stinging and panic mounting with every sob. But then Brady’s there, pulling him in, holding him. Brady’s crying too. He’s upset, just like Dean was, crying like Dean was and it’s because Sam did something wrong.</p>
<p>But Brady clings to him. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re strange and sometimes I don’t get you. But that’s who you are. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. You never made promises. I know that. I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve turned my world upside down and I feel like I haven’t even stirred up dust in yours.”</p>
<p>“But you vacuum more often than I do!” Sam bawls.</p>
<p>That makes Brady laugh between sobs which makes Sam realise he meant it metaphorically. </p>
<p>“Do you still want me?” Sam sniffles.</p>
<p>“Fuck, you’re slow sometimes. <i>Yes!</i>” He kisses Sam then. Saliva sticky from crying, taste alcohol-toxic and welcome. The sex that follows is desperate. Sam desperate to mend what was broken, Brady desperate for Sam.</p>
<p>But something changed that day. Again.</p>
<p>Brady starts asking hard questions. “How do you feel about me?”</p>
<p>“I like you.”</p>
<p>“Like me like you liked Sarah, like you like professor Martinez, or how?”</p>
<p>“I like you more.”</p>
<p>“How much more?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Other things that used to work, doesn’t anymore. </p>
<p>“Do you want to watch a movie?”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Which one?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Would you prefer an action or a comedy?”</p>
<p>“What do you prefer?”</p>
<p>“Nu-uh. I asked you first, Sammy.” It goes on like that. Brady asks multiple choice questions and demands that Sam makes the choice. It’s always ‘What do you want, Sammy?’ and ‘I don’t know’ isn’t good enough for Brady and he no longer lets Sam put the choice on his shoulder.</p>
<p>They have another fight, or something like it. “Why is it always I who initiate sex? Don’t you <i>want</i> to have sex with me?”</p>
<p>“Of course I do.”</p>
<p>“Then why is it always me who initiates it? You never take the initiative.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t realise you wanted me to.”</p>
<p>Sam doesn’t know why, but the answer pisses Brady off to the degree that Brady takes his jacket and leaves. Sam learns from the nausea and anxiety while waiting for Brady to come back, fearing he won’t, that Brady wants him to take initiative.</p>
<p>It’s really good for a while after that. Sam thinks so. They party together, study together, and spend time together in their dorm room. Sam doesn’t repeat his mistake of staying out a full night. When he needs money he trolls back alleys and public restrooms. It’s not as lucrative, but Brady’s happy. </p>
<p>Or so he thinks. </p>
<p>“I can’t do this anymore,” Brady says one day.</p>
<p>“Do what?”</p>
<p>“This. <i>Us</i>. It’s a really hard decision to make, but the semester’s almost over so I’m moving back home.”</p>
<p>It’s like getting a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. “W-why?”</p>
<p>“Because I'm in love with you, but you keep breaking my heart. You simply don’t feel for me like I feel for you. And I've realised that I don't know you at all.”</p>
<p>“But we're good together. Haven't I changed after every mistake I've made, to be like you want?”</p>
<p>“That’s just it, Sammy. You’re like a mirage. I don’t want you to be like <i>I</i> want. I want to know <i>you</i>. And I’ve seen how you do it. When we’re out together, you mirror people. You listen and agree and give bullshit answers that can be interpreted however. But you’re never really emotionally engaged except when you’re writing your stories and you won’t share those with me. As far as I know, you still think of us like nothing more but best friends.”</p>
<p>“You make that sound like something b-bad. It’s the best I’ve ever had. What do you want from me?”</p>
<p>“Sam. Don’t you get it? I love you. I <i>love</i> you! It’s been so natural for me to think of us like boyfriends because that’s how you act most of the time. But―”</p>
<p>“So we’re boyfriends! I can do that! <i>Please</i>.”</p>
<p>“No. You don’t get it. How many have you slept with since we’ve been together?”</p>
<p>Sam doesn’t know what to answer.</p>
<p>“This is what I mean, Sammy. I know you’re still sleeping around. See, I couldn’t do that to you. It’s not like I’m blind to other people, Sam. But I think of you every fucking minute of the day. You’re everything to me. I don’t <i>want</i> anyone else.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want anyone else either.”</p>
<p>“Then why are you fucking other people?!”</p>
<p>The truth slips out unbidden in the wake of his panic about Brady leaving. “I needed the money.” It was never about wanting to be with someone else. He’s desperate for Brady to know that. </p>
<p>Brady stares at him uncomprehendingly. Then the pieces slot into place and he covers his mouth with a hand, blinking tears out of his eyes. He closes his eyes and takes a few shuddering breaths, collecting himself. “I, uh… sometimes I think you can’t feel anything. You’re just going through the motions. You don’t care and you can’t feel. You just don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“That’s not <i>true</i>! I care! I feel!”</p>
<p>“Yeah? But if you do, you don’t feel the right things. You don’t feel for me like I do for you.”</p>
<p>“<i>Then tell me how I’m supposed to feel and I’ll feel it!</i> Please, Brady. <i>Please</i> don’t leave me!”</p>
<p>“Sam, this is exactly what I’m talking about! Feelings don’t work that way!”</p>
<p>“But if we just stop? We don’t have to have sex. We can go back to just be friends? You don’t have to leave! I want you to stay!”</p>
<p>“I can’t, Sammy. I can’t just <i>stop</i>. I love you. Don’t you get it?”</p>
<p>“I love you too.”</p>
<p>“You don’t.”</p>
<p>“I <i>do</i>! I do love you!”</p>
<p>Brady closes his eyes and takes deep breaths. His lips wobble. Silent tears track down his cheeks. “I… I want to be friends with you. I really want that,” he says at last. “But I need space to get over you. I need to stay away from you until I’m not in love with you anymore. If I thought for a minute that you felt the same as I do, I’d want to marry you and live the rest of my life with you. But you don’t feel like me. Stop.” He holds up a hand to stave off Sam’s protest before it comes. “You don’t. I’ve been listening to you. To what you’ve said during all the time we’ve lived together. I’ve thought about it. You don’t feel the same. I think you need help. That there’s something wrong. I can’t help you while I’m this involved. I… I’m moving out. We’ll see if we can be friends in the future or not. I just… I can’t. I can’t.”</p><hr/>
<p>Sam doesn’t remember the upcoming days. It’s nothing new. There are lots of days in his life that are nothing but black holes and blurs. It makes common questions hard to answer. ‘How old were you when you lost your virginity?’, ‘What was your first kiss like?’, ‘What was your first time like?’ He’s tailored the answers to fit what’s expected and won’t cause too much outrage. He was seventeen with a boy his age when they lived in Duluth. It’s all lies of course. He hasn’t been with <i>anyone</i> his own age. Brady’s the closest to his own age he’s ever been with. Jess and Sarah too, but they’re still a few months older than Brady. Brady turns twenty in three days. Sam turns seventeen in two weeks, but as far as the world knows, he turns nineteen.</p>
<p>The loneliness that follows grates on him. He writes another story about ‘Little Bird’. Little bird, after his run in with the owl, the goose, the fox, the bear, and the snake, only has about half of his downy feathers left. They all have picked down from his body and it always hurts. Then Little Bird meets another little bird with down as soft as his own. But the new little bird has all his down left. Little Bird picks some of his soft down, thinking that the other little bird won’t miss them, he’s got so many. But the other little bird flees crying, leaving Little bird confused. It hurt Little Bird to pick those soft downy feathers even though they weren’t on his own body. </p>
<p>To an outsider it might seem strange that Sam never sees the connection between himself and Little Bird. But Sam never lets anyone read these stories. He couldn’t say why, but they’re too personal. Instead he cries his heart out because Little Bird is so sad, and hurts so much. Little Bird is so much more real to him than anyone he knows. More real, than himself even. Little Bird is searching for something. What, Sam couldn’t tell yet. But he’s sure that some day Little Bird will find it. It’ll come to him.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Brady's a good guy but both he and Sam are young, and Brady's not ready to tackle Sam's problems to make it work. In another life, these two might have fallen in love and lasted for a long time. I can honestly say that if I'd written this chapter through Brady's POV my heart would've been ripped to shreds with the constant emotional upheaval. My heart goes out to him. At the same time, I have to congratulate him for his sound, self-caring thinking. He recognized how much emotional damage he was taking from being with someone who constantly cheated on him and seemed unable to reciprocate his feelings. Had he stayed with Sam, Sam would unwittingly have broken him. However, if Sam wasn't so damn respectful, I'm fairly certain Sam could've easily sucked him back in. </p>
<p>Sam/Brady is a guilty pleasure of mine. ^^'</p>
<p>Please leave a comment. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. KELVIN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's devastated after Brady leaves him. He's a good boy, so he doesn't hound Brady even if he wants nothing more than for Brady to take him back. Instead, Sam looks around, searching for a distraction.  He finds it in his Lit. class.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Years!</p>
<p>I originally planned to have this chapter be Sam's first meeting with Lucifer, but then episode 15, season 12 aired, we got introduced to the angel Kelvin portrayed by Nathan Mitchell and <i>hot damn!</i> So, Badda-bing, Badda-boom, meet hot professor Kelvin. ;)</p>
<p>Dubcon chapter warning based on uneven power dynamics. <br/>Racism.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div>Sam sees Brady sometimes. He leaves Brady alone since that’s what Brady wants, but Sam doesn’t want to. He misses him. He misses Brady, Dean, and dad. It’s not a long list. Brady’s not cold or anything when they do talk. He gives Sam sad closelipped smiles when their eyes meet. When Sam’s out partying, something he’s started frequently doing since Brady moved out, and Sam’s sitting with a group of people, Brady will sit with them. He’s not actively avoiding Sam at every corner. But there’s still a vast gap between them. Sam had told Brady he wanted him to stay, and Brady had left. It means there’s no point in telling people what you want.<p>Sam’s searching for something to distract himself with. He doesn’t know what, so he does what he always has done. He seeks out the familiar, like their ‘hot’ literature professor. Hot people are called hot―to his understanding―because people want to have sex with them. It’s a person many people get turned on just by looking at. Sam has trouble seeing who is supposed to be hot or not. If you ask him, Brady’s hot. He misses sex with Brady. He can think about being with him and get turned on. But then again, he can think about Dean and get turned on too. So his logical conclusion of what hot is, is that it has to do with love. Yet he knows his conclusion is wrong because other people don’t go around loving that many people. So he listens to what other people say, and by doing so, he’s figured out that hot equals good looking. He can’t see what that has to do with sex, but that’s okay. </p>
<p>Professor Kelvin Marcus is definitely a good looking man. Young, not even 35 years old, dark skin, nice clothes, and a well-trimmed beard. He looks like he’d fit better in a trendy club than in a lecture hall. But most of all, Sam’s seen the looks the Professor has given him ever since he first set foot in the Professor’s class. The gaze he knows better than anything. That’s why the void left by Brady makes him search the professor out. He knocks on Kelvin’s office door, waits for the ‘come in’, then closes the door.</p>
<p>The professor looks up. “Ah, Mr. Winchester. What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>Sam comes to stand in the middle of the floor with his hands behind his back. “You wanted me, Professor.”</p>
<p>“I don’t recall having made an appointment with you?”</p>
<p>Sam tilts his head so his bangs fall to almost cover one eye. He gives the professor a lopsided smirk. “You didn’t have to, Sir. I’m a good boy. I know when I’m wanted.”</p>
<p>Kelvin blinks, then shifts deliberately in his chair.</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I understand…” he says carefully with a calculating gaze.</p>
<p>“Pfft. Don’t play coy with me, Professor. You know perfectly well what I mean.” Sam walks around the desk. Kelvin spins his chair to stay face to face with him, hands laced together over his belly, leaned back the chair, legs far apart. Oh, he knows. It’s in the gaze, in the flared nostrils, and the way the pulse jumps at his throat. If nothing else, the way he’s sitting is a downright invitation.</p>
<p>“You think it will get you higher grades?”</p>
<p>The question startles a surprised laugh out of Sam. “Oh, <i>please</i>. With all due respect, Professor, if you have to ask that, you haven’t graded any of my papers,” he answers with an amused smirk.</p>
<p>“Then what? Do you want to ruin my career, Mr. Winchester?”  Kelvin asks, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“No, Sir. But you want me, and I’ve got needs.” He <i>needs</i> Brady. But Brady’s gone.</p>
<p>A small smirk plays on Kelvin’s lips. His eyes have turned hungry and predatory. “Indeed. If you tell anyone about this, I’ll <i>ruin</i> you.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir. I know how to keep a secret.”</p>
<p>Everything that happens after that would by many be described as ‘hot’. Kelvin doesn’t want ‘little boy’ Sam; he wants college student Sam. He wants to be addressed like ‘Professor’ or ‘Sir’, and something about the fact that Sam’s an A-student who doesn’t need higher grades drives Kelvin mad in a good way. Sam asks why. Kelvin says that it’s because Sam came to him because he wanted to, not because Kelvin held any power over him. Sam doesn’t really understand what he means, but it makes something anxious and uncomfortable stir to life inside of him. Like when you run into someone that you recognize, and you can't place from where. It’s like that. He gets the feeling that he really <i>should</i> understand what Kelvin is talking about, yet try as he might, he doesn’t. </p>
<p>The next time Sam has Lit. Kelvin gives him a questioning look at the end of the lesson. Sam jumps to conclusions and shows up at his office. It happens several times, and after the fourth time, Kelvin no longer wants him to call him professor anymore. The fifth time when they’re done, Kelvin stops him before he can leave. He seems nervous. “Hey, Sam. What are you doing this weekend?”</p>
<p>“Nothing planned so far.”</p>
<p>Kelvin frowns in concern. “Don’t you need to study?”</p>
<p>“All done. Now I'm just waiting for the exams so I can unload everything I've memorized,” Sam answers loftily. </p>
<p>Kelvin chuckles and shakes his head with a warm gaze that reminds him of how Brady used to look at him sometimes. “You’re really something, you know that?”</p>
<p>“Look. I can’t be blamed for being a genius, okay?” Sam jokes dryly. </p>
<p>Kelvin laughs. “That’s right.”</p>
<p>“So why do you want to know what I'm doing this weekend?”</p>
<p>Kelvin yet again seems nervous and fidgets a bit with his shirt cuffs. The gold band on his left ring finger glints as it catches the light. “I was wondering if you’d like to go with me on a little trip? I've got a cabin by the sea about three hours away from here. We'd leave Saturday and come back Sunday evening. I get if you don’t want to or rather hang with your friends or―“</p>
<p>“I'd love to.” It seems like a good distraction from thinking of Brady.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Kelvin, delightedly, wants to be confirmed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure.”</p>
<p>“Great! I'll pick you up at noon at the pier if that's alright?”</p>
<p>“Fine by me.”</p>
<p>“See you then,” Kelvin says and surprises Sam by leaning in and giving him a chaste goodbye kiss.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It’s not what Sam’s expected. When a guy asks him to come away with them for a weekend, they usually take him to a cheap motel and fuck him raw. Sometimes it's places like this - vacation houses where they won't be disturbed. That usually entails disciplinary ‘games’ or sharing with friends. It’s never like this. For starters, they eat at a classy nearby restaurant and drink white wine and talk. Kelvin tells him he met his wife in college. She’s his best friend, and they've got a ten-year-old daughter. Kelvin talks differently, uses simpler language, more fit amongst students than teachers. Sam’s quite intrigued by the shift to Kelvin’s private persona.</p>
<p>This far away, the risk of getting spotted by someone who knows they’re teacher/student is small. It’s still a surprise when they walk on the beach―pants rolled up to their knees, feet in the waves, and shoes carried in their hands―when Kelvin takes his free hand and holds it, right there in the open. They’re not alone on the beach. Everybody can see them, yet Kelvin doesn’t seem to care. That’s unprecedented. And… nice. Really nice. Nice in a way that makes Sam nervous. A good kind of nervous.</p>
<p>The white cabin comes with a private beach stretch, and they climb over a low wooden fence to get there. It’s not a big cabin, but light and airy with large windows towards the sea. There is a couch and living room table facing the view, a kitchenette in one corner of the room, and a bedroom with a fireplace. The shower is large enough for two, and everything is decorated with sea-inspired art or colors with white as a base in every room. Kelvin lets him look around before he captures Sam’s wrist and pulls him in for a kiss. He pauses to smile warmly at Sam and stroke some hair out of his face. “You’re so beautiful, Sam. I can’t even imagine how much more gorgeous you’ll be by 25.”</p>
<p>He kisses Sam again, and Sam’s almost too stunned to remember to reciprocate. The long makeout session and the sex that follows might be Sam’s most sensual to this day. He’d come close with Brady, but it had been flavored by Brady’s high energy personality and his inexperience. Unlike the sex he’d had with Kelvin in his office, there’s nothing rough or craving about it. Kelvin takes as much pleasure in Sam’s gratification as he does in his own.</p>
<p>Afterward, Kelvin prepares a tray with cheese, crackers, pear slices, grapes, and fig marmalade. He brings it outside to the deck, where they drink red wine wrapped in a blanket, while watching the setting sun with a lit candle on the tray.</p>
<p>It’s romantic.</p>
<p>It shouldn't be such a revelation as it is. He’s read about romance loads of times, seen it on TV. He should have recognized the romantic elements long before this. He wonders if the sex they had earlier would classify as making love? In some books, all sex with a person you love is lovemaking. In others, it was more of a style. He doesn’t love Kelvin. His list of loved ones is short. But all of this feels good and oddly without pressure, and it’s making him giddy and relaxed at the same time.</p>
<p>He might be a bit giggly when Kelvin makes him try the different cheeses and, as by magic, turns a nasty flavored blue cheese into something delicious by combining it with pear. </p>
<p>“I know. This ain’t exactly the sexy kind of food. Some of ‘em stink worse than a gym bag,” Kelvin concedes. “But it’s a guilty pleasure of mine.”</p>
<p>“And while you’re enjoying one guilty pleasure, why not have another one?” Sam jokes with a wink.</p>
<p>Kelvin sniggers. “Exactly. Did you try this one?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head.</p>
<p>“It’s best with these crackers and fig marmalade. It’s not for everyone. You don’t like it, don’t eat. But let me… hold on…” Kelvin breaks off a piece of cracker and prepares it with cheese and marmalade, then holds it out for Sam to taste. He takes it with his mouth, even if that doesn’t seem to be the point of this. Kelvin looks at him expectantly. “You like it? Or not?”</p>
<p>There’s no right or wrong answer here. When Sam had answered he didn’t like one of them, Kelvin had laughed and looked just as pleased as when he said he did like one. “It’s okay. But I liked that one better. Kinda cool what difference it makes what you combine it with.”</p>
<p>Kelvin smiles widely. “Yeah. Personally, I think many of these are too much on their own. But in the right combination with sweet or salt, <i>mmm-mh.</i>”</p>
<p>“Dad used to make cheese trays too, but he’d use only hard cheeses that he’d cut into cubes and put toothpicks in. Sometimes he’d add garlic cream cheese and crackers too, but never like this.”</p>
<p>Kelvin had been pleasantly surprised that Sam hadn’t had blue cheese before. There were other cheeses on the tray as well, and three types of cream cheese. “I want to call him heathen, but each to their own.”</p>
<p>“He’d probably take that as a compliment and call you a pretentious snob in return.”</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m a professor at a university. I’ve earned my right to be a pretentious snob.”</p>
<p>They grin at each other and take another sip of wine.</p>
<p>“So what do you want to be when you’re done with your studies. Why are you in my class?”</p>
<p>“To get good grades?” Sam jokes.</p>
<p>“Ey. You don’t want to tell, you don’t have to. Hell, when I was a freshman, I still had no clue what I wanted to be,” Kelvin offers.</p>
<p>“I know what I want to be. I want to be a writer.”</p>
<p>“Really? What kind of writer?”</p>
<p>“I want to write books for children. I’ve wanted that for as long as I can remember.”</p>
<p>“No astronaut or fireman phase?”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles and sips his wine. “No. Dad used to read to me when I was a kid. He’d read books above my age-range. It spurred me to learn to read very early and helped build my vocabulary. But I think… I think it was when I was ten that the idea to become a writer was born. At the time dad was reading <i>Flowers in the attic</i> by V.C. Andrews to me―”</p>
<p>Kelvin interrupts him with an impressed whistle. “That’s some heavy shit to lay on a ten-year-old.”</p>
<p>Sam grins. “I loved it. I loved books, period. He always read books to me that reminded me of however bad my life seemed, there were lots of children who had it worse. And I’d read anything I could get my hands on. We moved a lot. Didn’t get a chance to make any lasting connections. I had friends, but…” Sam shrugs. “Books you could find everywhere and take with you when you moved if you weren’t finished with them. Friends stayed put. So dad, my big brother Dean, and books were the only constants in my life. The stories people tell have helped me so much. I want to help others in turn. Give them worlds to flee into when things get too much. Light that fire in them.”</p>
<p>“You had a rough childhood? If you felt the need to escape?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs. “I don’t think so. Many have it worse, I think? Mom died when I was six months old, but I still had dad and Dean, and they loved me very much. Dad used to tell me I was lucky.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that’s not for him to decide, is it? Parents like to tell their kids that so they won’t complain. I probably make that mistake with Tasha too. I think she’s lucky compared to me, but that’s not really something you can measure since we only have our own experiences to go by. She doesn’t have my experiences and might think everything’s shit when I think it’s perfect, if you get what I mean?” </p>
<p>Sam gets the same feeling he got that first day in Kelvin’s office and Kelvin explained that it drove him mad in a great way because he held no leverage over Sam. An uncomfortable feeling full of stress, like he’s on the cusp of something big he should be able to understand but doesn’t, and his mind shies away from it no matter how hard he tries to force it to grasp it. Instead of answering, he asks a question. “So how did you grow up?”</p>
<p>Kelvin smiles. “I grew up in the ghetto. We were poor, lived in a small, run-down apartment, and were five brothers. I’m the second oldest. My parents, especially my dad, believed in tough love. He’d beat the shit outta my brothers and me. He liked to remind us how lucky we were to have food on the table and a roof over our heads.”</p>
<p>“Dad only beat me once and it was when I showed him the first acceptance letter to college and told him I wanted to go. He called me ungrateful and accused me of abandoning the family. So when the next letter came, offering me a full ride to study here, I hid it from him and ran away.”</p>
<p>“I like that about you. How you don’t let people stop you from getting what you want. I’m sad to hear about your dad’s reaction, though. If my dad had reacted the same way, I wouldn’t have gone to college and I mighta ended up in jail like some of my brothers. Tell you the truth, it wasn’t the beatings that were the worst. It was the emotional abuse. He’d pull the ungrateful schtick, tell us how worthless we were, call us useless, and scoff at our dreams. And he’d blame the white man for everything that was bad in our life. It made me a very angry young man who hated white people. I was a real thug.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, man. I was out there fightin’ on the barricades, all about Black Power. It didn’t make it easier that my first crush was a white, upper-class neo-nazi.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about him,” Sam asks, completely fascinated. </p>
<p>“We met on a protest march. I was the nerdy guy in my hood, and I still was a thug. But while most of my guys tried to fight the assholes over the barricades and police keeping us apart, he and I yelled well-thought-out political arguments at each other instead. Rioting never works anyway. Anytime there was a clash we’d seek each other out. Of course, we ended up fighting like the rest, but not without having debated first. I hated his guts. But I hated his guts because he stood for everything I hated and yet I’d get thrilled butterflies in my belly from seeing him. Fighting him wasn’t like fighting anyone else. Grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, and staring him down, it was electric. I found out where he lived and went there to argue. Can’t say who made the first move, but one minute we were arguing in his hallway, the next we were making out desperately. He told me he’d kill me if I told anyone. I told him dad would kill me if he found out. One thing we had in common was that we both came from worlds where homosexuality was strictly forbidden. It lasted almost a year before we both went off to separate universities. I went with the idea that I’d educate myself and crush white privilege from within. Instead, I met good people who made me treasure equality.”</p>
<p>“Huh. That’s the kind of stories you read about in books.”</p>
<p>“Mhm. But in books, we’d have a happy ending, and we’d both realize the folly of our racism.”</p>
<p>“Do you remember his name?”</p>
<p>“I do. But I won’t tell you. He’s a well-known politician these days.”</p>
<p>Sam downs the last of his wine and holds his glass out to be refilled when Kelvin raises the bottle in question. “Yeah, okay. I know what it’s like to have to keep my mouth shut about my lovers’ identities to protect them,” Sam says, smiling softly.</p>
<p>“Sam.” Kelvin reaches out and strokes his hair. “When I first saw you… I’ve had trouble keeping my eyes to myself. It happens sometimes. I ain’t gonna lie, I’ve had other students that were gorgeous enough for me to look twice. But you caused me some internal turmoil and if you’d come to me at the beginning of the school year, I don’t think I would have taken you up on your offer.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p>“Because you looked so young. A year’s done a great difference. You’ve grown, started to fill out your frame. I guess you’re a late bloomer. But even if I knew you were of age when you started, I still felt gross for being attracted to someone who <i>looked</i> so young.”</p>
<p>Sam snorts. “And I’m supposed to do what, with that information?” he answers dryly. On the inside, he’s mostly confused.</p>
<p>Kelvin laughs. “A’ight. I want to tell you, I’ve never done this before. Can’t say I haven’t fantasized or haven’t gotten offers before, usually from girls. But it’s the first time I have taken the offer from a student. You came in, I thought it was a one-time thing. You took the opportunity to live out a teacher/student fantasy and so did I. That’s not what I’m usually about. You’re one hella special young man. But I will never do right by you.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I'm a married man. If that was the only obstacle, I might have considered divorce. But I've got a daughter. We'll never be more than this, you and I. I need you to understand that. When you grow tired of me, in a week or a year, don't be afraid to let me down. I know it'll happen because you deserve better than being a married man's affair. I'm okay with getting dumped,” Kelvin says, smiling softly. “Besides, you should be with someone your own age. With whom you have a future. Like that blond guy I've seen you with. You seem to have good chemistry?”</p>
<p>“Brady?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that's it. You should be with him. I'm just an old guy with a crush.” Kelvin doesn’t look like he wants Sam to be anywhere but with Kelvin. Sam learns in for a wine-stained kiss to get it confirmed. Sure enough, Kelvin kisses him like he’s afraid Sam will stand up and walk away at any minute. </p>
<p>“Brady broke up with me,” Sam confesses when they break apart. He looks towards the sky, now dotted with stars. </p>
<p>“I'm sorry to hear that. He must be out of his mind.”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. “No. Apparently, I cheated on him. This is going to sound really stupid, but I didn't realize we were boyfriends.”</p>
<p>“How come?”</p>
<p>“He didn’t tell me? I don't know.” Sam chuckles apologetically. “So get this, I'd never been boyfriends with anyone before. We were roommates and best friends. It started by me offering to blow him to blow off steam and slowly escalated from there. I thought we were best friends with benefits. Clearly, that wasn't the case. I couldn't tell. I've never been in one place as long as this before either, so Brady wasn’t just my first boyfriend, he was my first best friend. It was so natural to him what the difference was and that I should see it. That I should have known… You must think I’m a total loser, huh? A bit slow, not to get it.”</p>
<p>“Uh-uh. Not at all. Like I said before, we only got our own experiences to base our judgment on. How were you supposed to recognize something you’ve never experienced before? Friendship and love can be very similar.”</p>
<p>“Like you and your wife? You said she was your best friend.”</p>
<p>“No. That’s different. I met her in college, like I told you. We became best friends, and for a while, she was in love with me. I recognized this and asked her to marry me to hide I was gay. I do love her, very much, but friendship is the core of the relationship.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you feel bad for cheating on her?”</p>
<p>Kelvin shakes his head. “No. We haven’t had sex since we found out she was pregnant. That’s nearly eleven years. We’re still together because of Tasha. Not because I believe in staying together for the sake of the children at all costs. Hell no. If the relationship is bad it’ll harm the kids. A good, happy single parent will do better than two miserable ones. But me and my wife get along great. That’s where our friendship comes in. We have a happy home. She’s aware I have affairs, and I’m aware that she’s dating her co-worker Nathan on the side and has been for the last eight years. We rarely talk about it openly but we cut each other slack for moments such as these. In return, we can both live with Tasha and be there for her at every corner. She doesn’t have to feel the rootlessness many kids experience when they are shipped between two homes every other week. We share an economy, which puts less of a burden on both of us. The reason it works is the great friendship, love, and respect between us.”</p>
<p>“Does she know you’re gay?”</p>
<p>“I think she suspects, but I don’t know. If I ever do come out to her, I think she’ll be supportive. This, you and me, would still upset her, though.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Kelvin laughs. “Not only am I fourteen years older than you, but you’re my <i>student</i>. It’s wrong on so many levels.”</p>
<p>“Fourteen isn’t that big of an age gap.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps not. I’ll agree that it doesn’t have to be. When you’re 30 and date someone who’s 44, the difference is nearly non-existent. But you’re 19, just turned a man yet still with one foot in your boyhood. I would not want my daughter to date a 33-year-old when she’s nineteen. And if she does, I want it to be because she’s bold and confident like you. Because <i>she</i> chose it. Not because some asshole abuses his power leverage over her, making her think she has no other choice.”</p>
<p>They continue to talk for half the night, fall asleep after slow, drunken ‘lovemaking’, and the day after they fuck like rabbits. It’s good. It’s terrific. It is, without competition, the greatest sex Sam’s ever had. Everything with Brady had been good in its own way. Not technically, as Brady had been inexperienced, over-eager, and often nervous of doing something wrong. Sam had often found himself wanting to have sex with Brady. Still, he honestly could have been equally happy going without if Brady would just come back and be with him as a friend. He missed laughing with him, studying with him, talking, and just hanging out.</p>
<p>Kelvin makes sex into something new for Sam. He makes it into what the other guys talk about all the time. Sam’s pleasure is paramount to Kelvin. Sam’s known for longer than he can remember how to not be in his own mind when he has sex, but he’s never been driven <i>out</i> of his mind until he’s begging for it―not because someone wants him to, but because he wants more. Kelvin tells Sam how beautiful and strong he is, how smart and special he is. He refers to him as a young man, not a boy. He tells him how he believes in him, and that he’ll make it as a writer. Sometime during all this, while Kelvin lavishes him with a new kind of praise and affection, he points out again that Sam can stop this at any time and walk away, but requests that Sam keeps from fucking others as long as he’s with Kelvin. It’s such an easy promise to give.</p>
<p>Kelvin often repeats that he can’t believe Sam chose him. That Sam would want an old ‘nigger’ like himself. It stresses Sam out when Kelvin calls himself the N-word. He knows the dark history of that word. He repeatedly assures Kelvin that Kelvin is <i>not</i> too old for him. That Sam came to him, just like he said. The racial aspect comes creeping into it without Sam really thinking about it. A simple comment about ‘that pretty white-boy ass’. It’s understood that Kelvin doesn’t mean ‘boy’ as Sam usually gets to hear it. Somewhere Sam makes the connection to Kelvin’s past. He thinks maybe Kelvin’s still insecure from the racism that dominated his youth. Perhaps he thinks Sam looks down on him somehow because of his color? Maybe he thinks it makes him less attractive? Begging to taste that ‘big, black cock’ isn’t a far stretch and it’s the right thing to say. Kelvin loves it.</p>
<p>Between rounds, they talk. Kelvin really listens to Sam. When Sam’s hesitant to say something, he isn’t pressured. Instead, Kelvin will share something personal, just like he had about his abusive upbringing. Sam finds himself opening up, telling Kelvin more about himself than he usually does. He keeps his mouth shut about some things. If he’s promised not to tell, he doesn’t. But still. He talks. He admires the professor who’s climbed his way out of the ghetto and turned into such a good, respectful man. Of course, Sam understands that he can never tell anyone about this. Kelvin would risk losing his job, and maybe even risk a divorce since Kelvin’s wife would not understand that Sam’s old enough to make his own choices, that Kelvin’s not taking advantage in any way.</p>
<p>Kelvin and he exchange phone numbers before they part. Sam can’t call or text unless Kelvin does so first. But Sam gets that. He gets that Kelvin’s job and daughter have to take precedence. But this way Kelvin can contact him so they can meet up. The whole weekend is a great experience for Sam. He feels punchdrunk, like what being high is described to feel like. He wonders if he’s in love? But no. Brady had said Sam would know when it happened. Since he isn’t sure, it must be something else. He feels amazing. </p>
<p>That’s why it comes as a surprise when 4 AM Monday morning a sense of wrong hits him like a truck. He paces his room with a nauseating buzz under his skin. He can’t say why, but he calls Brady. Brady doesn’t pick up (no wonder there), so he leaves a message. “Hi, Brade. ...uh. I miss you. I… God, this is stupid. I just wanted someone to talk to. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. Forget about this, okay? Don’t worry. I just… take care, okay?” He hangs up and feels like an idiot. He can’t exactly talk with Brady about this. Brady doesn’t need to hear him talk about another guy, and besides, he’d promised Kelvin to keep his mouth shut. What is he, if he can no longer keep secrets?</p>
<p>It’s just that he doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels like this. He’s never felt this pressing urge to talk about something like this before, to get a second opinion from someone he trusts. Currently, the only one on that list is Brady if you don’t count Kelvin himself. That’s why thirty minutes later, when a text comes from Brady, asking, “<tt>Are you okay?</tt>” it takes Sam ten whole minutes to answer. </p>
<p>“<tt>I’m fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.</tt>”</p>
<p>“<tt>Are you sure? I know I said I need space, but if you’re in trouble you can tell me, okay?</tt>”</p>
<p>“<tt>It’s nothing. Exam nerves, okay? Forget I called.</tt>”</p>
<p>But Brady doesn’t let it go. The next day before class Brady searches him out. “Hey, Sammy? Are you okay?” he asks, startling Sam with a hand on his shoulder. Sam turns around and finds himself staring in blue, honest, concerned eyes, and chokes on his reply.</p>
<p>“Brade. Hi. Uh,...” he rubs the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat up. The universe works to help him remember not to screw up then. Professor Kelvin comes walking down the corridor behind Brady’s back. Meeting his gaze it all it takes for Sam to get himself in check. He puts on a cocky smirk. “I’m fine. Really. I had had a little too much to drink and was bored. I’m really sorry about that.”</p>
<p>“But you never drink too much,” Brady protests with a frown, concern still in his eyes instead of the annoyance Sam had expected.</p>
<p>“First time for everything, I guess. I have to go. Take care of yourself, okay?” With that Sam flees the scene and ducks into his lecture hall. During the lecture he gets a text from Kelvin, asking him to come to his office at noon. </p>
<p>Sam had wanted a distraction from Brady and found it. Kelvin sucks him in, and does so <i>fast</i>. It’s not just sex. Kelvin will meet up for a coffee and just talk, he’ll take him out during weekends and some weeknights. Sam never knows when the next text will come so he can’t go out to party with friends or make other plans. Sometimes Kelvin cancels on him last minute too, rescheduling due to his family. The weeks are intense and focused around Kelvin. Sometimes the feeling that something isn’t right comes back with a vengeance, but the moments with the professor are worth it. Besides, he’s the one in control for once. He chose this. Kelvin’s said he can opt-out at any time. He’s choosing this.</p>
<p>There’s another problem though. Money’s getting scarce. The rules with the professor are clear. He’s promised not to fuck anyone else. That’s how he fucked it up with Brady and he won’t make that mistake again. Time passes too quickly. He flies through exams and papers with ease, then suddenly, it’s over. The semester’s over. Kelvin goes on a four-week long vacation with his family and it’s time for Sam to move out of the dorm until the fall semester starts. He’s got enough money for a couple of days in a cheap motel, then he’s in trouble.</p>
<p>While all this happens, Sam writes. Alone in his room, waiting for the next text, Little Bird meets a beautiful Raven. The raven admires the softness of Little Bird’s downy feathers. She picks one just to admire it, then generously gives it back to Little Bird. The Raven tells Little Bird that she wishes she could have a couple of those soft feathers, so Little Bird pulls them out of his skin and hands them over while the Raven holds a strong shielding black wing out, sheltering Little Bird from the cold wind. The Raven admires and coos about the softness in every down she receives, then unlike any other animal Little Bird has encountered so far, gives them back. Little Bird thinks it doesn’t hurt so much to pull his downy feathers out himself. After all, he gets all of them back. But then the Raven takes flight and disappears. No matter how hard Little Bird tries, he can’t reattach the downy feathers he’d given to the Raven, and they all blow away in the strong wind.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, not all bad things have to be bad through and through. This might seem like a good guy with a good influence on Sam. To a degree, he is. At the moment. But.</p>
<p>Alright, I'll fess up. Professor/college student is a guilty pleasure of mine to read. So is boss/employee. I revel in dub-con dynamics in <i>fiction</i>. BUT. If y'all ain't throwing a red flag parade by now y'all need to stop and think.<br/><br/>Let's talk red flags.<br/>"You choose this and I don't hold any leverage over you," says the man responsible for Sam's grades in a key subject. *squints suspiciously* "You can't contact me, but if I contact you I expect you to be available." *squints suspiciously* "If we have an affair I expect you to be faithful, but I obviously can't make the same promise since I'm married." *squinting so hard I can barely see* "I'm not taking advantage of you, <i>you're</i> choosing this," says the <i>adult</i>, heaping over all of the responsibility on the teen who has told him he's completely new to relationships of any kind and has trouble discerning what's expected of him.</p>
<p>You see where this is going?  Sam might be enjoying himself at the moment but this isn't a good relationship to be in. If you find yourself in a relationship with similar premises, be careful. It's all I'm saying. An illicit love affair can be thrilling but once someone starts setting up rules that put you under their control and at a disadvantage, be very careful.</p>
<p>That said, Sam is nowhere near ready to have an equal relationship. Subconsciously he's picking up the "off" vibes, but to recognize why he needs to acknowledge the abuse he's been put through growing up and all the mental defenses he has in place prevents him from doing that. Brady put the first crack in that wall, and in the next chapter, we'll meet the people who will ultimately tear it down and stand ready to deal with the consequences of doing that. </p>
<p>Please comment, and thank you for reading. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. LUCIFER</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>With Kelvin out of reach, Sam's alone. It leads him to follow an impulse that will introduce him to a few people that with become cornerstones of his life from now on. The first meeting doesn't go quite as Sam anticipated, though.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fic is incredibly inspired by music. That comes into play from this point on. Therefore I figured I'd share the Spotify playlist that goes with it. <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3CNMIp0YGH1AVhjEw4U5XL?si=ZkeaUXglToWRHge2myBrGw">Little Bird Playlist</a>. It's not important to know the music played, and if lyrics are involved then they'll be quoted. But if you're the type who like to immerse yourself, here's the link.</p>
<p>Warnings for this chapter:<br/>Offensive language/slurs<br/>Blatant disregard for the actors' real ability to sing</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div>Choices are hard. He’s almost out of money, and he’s been spending the last couple of days looking for a job. All the summer jobs are taken already. He hadn’t anticipated this, and now he feels foolish. When he’d thought about how he’d spend his summer, he’d figured he’d find someone to take care of him, that’d make sure he had a roof over his head. Maybe not <i>every</i> night, but often enough. He'd only had to rough it a couple of nights on the way across the country when he ran away from home. Now he potentially stands to face a whole summer without a home.<p>On top of that, he'd acquired another problem. His shirts and pants are getting too short. The thing Kelvin pointed out is becoming a real issue. His body is growing rapidly. He wonders if it's going to make it harder to…</p>
<p>No. He promised he wouldn’t be with anyone else as long as he's with Kelvin. Kelvin has a crush on him. Kelvin respects and cares about him. He can’t let the professor down. Kelvin makes him feel good and in the moment. </p>
<p>Only, he kind of has to unless he wants to starve. He could steal… but no. He can’t do that either—his conscience rebels at the very thought. Stealing, whether he targeted a person or a company, would hurt innocent people that have done nothing to him. His conscience can’t abide by it.</p>
<p>He admits to himself that he didn’t think things through when he ran away from home. </p>
<p>It’s nothing new. He's got an ability to space out and get lost in his head, not thinking about the future (or the present, for that matter). He’s not very experienced with normal life. Dad liked it best when he was cooped up in his room reading. On hand. Going to college had let him experience a ton of new stuff. Drinking alcohol, trying new foods, being responsible for keeping himself fed and clothed, and hanging out with friends in the way Dean used to do.</p>
<p>Now he’s torn choosing between breaking his promise to Kelvin, risking losing him, or having to rough it.</p>
<p>In the end, survival wins out. Kelvin doesn’t have to know. He can keep his own secrets as well as others’, right? The thought of willfully deceiving Kelvin for nothing but his own selfishness feels wrong and uncomfortable, but what's he to do?</p>
<p>He’d been afraid that it’d be harder to find someone now that he no longer looks quite as young as before. Luckily, he’d been wrong. Really, all he needs to do is be in the right place and make eye contact with everyone who passes by, and ‘they’ find him. He’s bolder than he usually is. Instead of letting them decide, he sets his own price. (Not too high. He doesn’t want to scare anyone off.) He hides his nerves about it behind a cocky lopsided smirk and thrills when it's accepted. He's in power. He can turn people away. He's the one choosing. </p>
<p>The power only lasts up until he's taken the money. He never considers that he can go back on his deal when it hurts or when they’re degrading. He’s a good boy. He's got honor. Dad always said a man is never better than his word. That’s why the thought of lying to Kelvin makes him feel so bad. </p>
<p>When he returns to the motel, he passes the bar Brady took him to long ago and spots a poster advertising live music. On a whim (against his better judgment - money’s tight after all), he shells out the ten bucks they charge for entry now, gets his hand stamped, and heads inside.</p>
<p>The band hasn’t started playing yet. There’s a stage in the back of the large locale, and there’s <i>a lot</i> of people inside. Just like before, the ages are very mixed. A few regular barflies that look like they come here daily, band be damned. People ‘his’ age, and up to their fifties, casual after-workers and hip partygoers. He buys a beer at the bar and spots a group of girls he recognizes from school. Nobody he knows, but their faces are familiar, which is more than enough for him to walk up to them. “Hi. I’m Sam. You guys go to the same college as me, but I don’t know your names?”</p>
<p>“Maybe there’s a reason for that, <i>buddy</i>,” one of them dismisses rudely with a faintly disgusted look over her shoulder. Her blonde hair is shaved partway on one side, framed by cornrows, while the hair on top and the other side falls in messy curls down her back.   </p>
<p>The girls join ranks and stand a bit closer together, blocking him out with their backs. Girls are a mystery. He's got no idea how they work or what they want. At least two of them have given him genuine smiles when meeting his eyes in school. Now they're all giving him flat stares, rebuffing him.</p>
<p>Kelvin had said that he likes that Sam doesn’t let anyone prevent him from getting what he wants. That doesn’t feel true. He wanted Brady back. But insisting after Brady made clear, he didn’t want that would be mean and disrespectful. What kind of friend would he be if he'd insisted after Brady said no? </p>
<p>But this is different. The girls are just rude. He might as well be rude back and ignore the dismissal. Dad had taught him that a good boy is always polite and respectful, especially to his elders. But there’s got to be limits, right?</p>
<p>He smiles, cheeky, and lopsided. “I know. You’re shy. So I'm sparing you the effort of working up the courage to talk to me. All to avoid having to stand by myself and question my life's choices.”</p>
<p>One of the girls laugh. “What choices would that be?”</p>
<p>“Currently, shelling out money to see a live band I’ve never heard of when I can barely make rent. Who are they anyway? The Archangels sound like Christian choir music. In my mind, it didn’t fit the venue. I got curious.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.</p>
<p>Two girls giggle, and a third smiles. The fourth girl who had snarked him snorts in amusement and steps to the side to widen the circle. “Can you imagine Lucifer singing choir music?” she asks her friends dryly, making them laugh out loud. </p>
<p>“Wait. <i>Lucifer?</i>”</p>
<p>“One of the members. They’re three brothers, or so they claim, even if they look nothing alike.”</p>
<p>“Michael, Gabriel, and Lucifer. They play mostly covers―“</p>
<p>“Michael is <i>so</i> hot!”</p>
<p>“―but play some of their own material sometimes.”</p>
<p>“They’re really good.”</p>
<p>The girls talk over each other, explaining.  “What kind of music do they play?”</p>
<p>“A bit of everything. Daughtry, Anouk, Kelly Clarkson, Alice In Chains, Nickelback, you name it. It depends on who's singing. They all sing and don’t really have a lead singer.”</p>
<p>“Nickelback? I thought it was illegal to play their songs?” Sam jokes. </p>
<p>Three out of four girls jeer, and the fourth protests loudly. “<i>Nooo</i>.”</p>
<p>“See, Annie? This guy doesn’t like Nickelback either,” one of them teases her friend. </p>
<p>“Oh, no. You misunderstand,” Sam hastens to correct. “I've never heard them. But I've seen the public shaming of their fans, so the logical conclusion is that it's against the law to like them, severely punishable by ridicule and ostracization. Though judging by their sales, I'd say a good percentage sneakily listen to them anyway.”</p>
<p>“Haven't heard―? You've been living under a rock or something?” ‘rude girl’ challenges. </p>
<p>“Pretty much. What can I say? It's not much, but it’s mine, if you know what I mean?” Sam answers with a self-deprecating smile and a shrug. </p>
<p>‘Rude girl’ sniggers, makeup-sooty blue eyes lighting up in warmer mirth, losing the last of their hostility. She offers her hand in greeting. “Claire Novak.”</p>
<p>Sam shakes her hand. “Sam Winchester.”</p>
<p>Honestly, Sam can’t say what he did to be okayed by the girls. But once Claire introduced herself, Annie, Tilly, and Christine did too, and suddenly he’s part of the forbidding circle that had previously shut him out. Sam really doesn't get girls. </p>
<p>The four of them are vastly different. Claire is jaded and snarky, Annie’s a Polynesian-American who wears brand clothing and wants to get rich, Tilly’s a down to earth black girl with a positive outlook, and Christine’s into new age. They've met in class and are joined by their love of the band that's playing tonight. When they buy a new round of drinks, he's included. </p>
<p>Twenty minutes later, he's startled by a firm hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Sammeeh! I thought you’d gone home for the summer! Good to see ya, man!”</p>
<p>Sam turns around to find Ennis, Steve, and whatever-his-name-is. Ennis is the one with a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam smiles. “Yeah, well. That didn’t happen. Logistics. Besides, all the prettiest girls are here, so why leave the state?”</p>
<p>“Suck up,” Claire mutters by his side. He shoots her a wink.</p>
<p>Steve, already fairly drunk, exclaims, “You’re full of shit!” He looks at the girls. “What are you doing, wasting your time with a faggot, when you could be spending it with a real man, like me?” he says and gives them a smile he probably thinks is slick.</p>
<p>“Ey, man. Tone it down,” nameless guy chastised.</p>
<p>“What’s your problem? He’s a cocksucker. He said so himself,” Steve defends, gesturing at Sam. “Bonafide fag. Should’ve gone home and left the girls for us.”</p>
<p>“Just because I like to choke on a dick sometimes doesn’t make me gay. And even if I were, it doesn’t change the fact that the girls here are the prettiest and worth staying for,” Sam retorts with a smirk, feeling ire rise more for the way the girls seem uncomfortable than the insult to himself. The way they had shut him down from the start makes more sense now if this is the kind of behavior they expected.</p>
<p>“Bet you like to suck on this one, faggot,” Steve says and grabs his crotch demonstratively.</p>
<p>“I said I like to <i>choke</i> on a dick, not pick my teeth with it,” Sam deadpans with a lofty smirk.</p>
<p>“<i>Oooo</i>. Burn,” Ennis jeers, and several in the company laugh. (Even if two girls look shocked still since Sam admitted to like dick.)</p>
<p>“Fuck you, you asshole. I'm gonna―“ Steve launches himself at Sam, is caught and held back by whatshisname. “―fuck you up! You wanna take this outside? Do <i>yuh?</i>”</p>
<p>Sam’s heart is rabbiting. He hasn’t been in a fight since first grade, and frankly, he'd probably get his ass handed to him, especially by a well-trained, sporty guy like Steve. He smirks, narrowing his eyes, trying to hide his nerves as if Steve isn’t the least bit intimidating to him.</p>
<p>“Andy, hold him!” Ennis commands (finally giving Sam a name on the third guy), stepping between Sam and Steve, holding up his hands to calm Steve down. “Steve, chill. Stow your homophobia, man. This isn’t the 1800’s. Sam’s alright. You liked Sam before you knew he was bi, and he’s no different now. He ain’t gonna come onto you against your will. He’s cool, alright? Just chill.”</p>
<p>“He started it,” Steve protests but stops pulling against Andy’s grip.</p>
<p>“No, he didn’t. You’re drunk. You smack-talked him and got burned. That’s what being salty will get ya, okay?”</p>
<p>“Look, Steve. Let me buy you a beer, and we’ll bury the hatchet?” Sam suggests, trying to diffuse the mood. He doesn’t want any trouble.</p>
<p>“See? Sam holds no grudges. Sam never holds grudges. You know that. C’mon, man,” Ennis cajoles.</p>
<p>“Yeah, come on, dude. Chill,” Andy encourages.</p>
<p>Steve relaxes grumpily and sends Sam a sulky glare that Sam meets with a friendly I’m-a-threat-to-nobody smile. “Alright. <i>Fine.</i>”</p>
<p>Sam buys them a beer each from the bartender and hands one to Steve.</p>
<p>“Watch out for cooties,” Claire teases Steve mockingly. Steve gives her a dark look but clicks his bottle with Sam’s without a remark.</p>
<p>Fifteen minutes later, Steve seems to have forgotten that he’s an asshole, engaged in discussion with Christine, while Ennis and Andy are talking to Annie and Tilly. Claire slips her hand into Sam’s. “Come on. Let’s go. They’re about to start, and I want a good spot.” She pulls him along towards the floor in front of the stage. People have started to gather there, and a tall man is on stage. He’s blond, hanging a bass over his neck. Head bent, he starts playing a simple rhythm. “That’s Lucifer,” Claire explains. “And here comes Gabriel.” A short man with caramel hair color takes the stage and slips behind the drums, joining Lucifer’s rhythm.</p>
<p>“If they’re only three, why are there so many instruments on stage?”</p>
<p>“They play several instruments each. Lucifer mostly plays bass and guitar but will sit behind the drums occasionally. Gabriel plays drums and keyboard. Michael guitar and keyboard, and sometimes bass.”</p>
<p>“And they all sing?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Sam whistles, impressed.</p>
<p>It’s getting crowded in front of the stage now that the musicians are announcing their presence. According to the girls, the band’s been playing here for a couple of weeks and are top-rated. They draw a crowd. This far, Gabriel and Lucifer aren’t even looking at their audience. All they do is play a heavy, bare rhythm.</p>
<p>Michael comes on stage. He definitely fits into what Sam’s come to recognise as being ‘hot’. Muscular to the slimmer side, with dark wavy hair and a confident smirk. He exchanges a look with Lucifer and heads straight for a mic, plants his feet firmly, and starts clapping on the base note in the dragging rhythm, getting a few people to clap with him. Then he begins to sing.</p>
<p>“<i>How do we fall in love? Harder than a bullet could hit you. How do we fall apart? Faster than a hairpin trigger…</i>” It’s soft, and a little sad, and he looks at the audience as if asking them. Gabriel and Lucifer add some backup vocals on the build-up to the chorus. Then Michael grabs the mic, and the energy changes. The song’s slow rhythm remains the same, but Michael sings from his toes, putting every fibre of his soul into it.</p>
<p>“<i>Shut your mouth, baby, stand and deliver! Holy hands, oh, they make me a sinner!…</i>”</p>
<p>They’re all engaging the audience now. Even Gabriel behind the drumset, to the extent he can. Sam's fascinated by the switch and the charisma they have. Michael and Lucifer both catch people’s gaze, giving them the feeling of the song being performed especially for them, but not lingering long enough to exclude the rest of the audience. </p>
<p>The song's intensity keeps rising. Towards the end of it, the three of them harmonize the chorus with equal passion, and Sam’s got goosebumps. He's barely looked away from Michael. He shifts his gaze to Lucifer. He’s more sturdily built than Michael, and although his vibes are more sexual, he wouldn’t fall in the category ‘hot’.</p>
<p>Lucifer’s eyes sweep the crowd. His gaze wanders over Sam, and he visibly does a double-take. Then he's suddenly got full eye contact with Sam, and something inside of Sam jolts. Lucifer’s blue eyes have him pinned as firmly as a physical grip. The blond narrows his eyes, smirks, and rolls his hips as he sings to Sam. “<i>Choke this love 'til the veins start to shiver! One last breath 'til the tears start to wither! Like a river, like a river…</i>”</p>
<p>It feels like his body is doing all kinds of funny things he’s read about a thousand times but never experienced himself. Elated butterflies in his belly, breath getting stuck in his throat, cheeks heating up, and head feeling dizzy and slightly panicked all at once. If panic was a pleasant feeling, that is. He changes his first impression of Lucifer. The man is <i>scorching</i>.</p>
<p>It feels like forever before Lucifer winks and breaks eye contact to look at someone else.</p>
<p>Sam remembers to breathe again. He finds himself stuck with an awestruck open-mouthed grin on his face and wonders if he’s had that the whole time and <i>oh god</i> that’d be mortifying and <i>holy shit</i> what did just happen and <i>Jesus</i> these guys are good!</p>
<p>As the song ends and their audience (including Sam) is clapping and cheering loudly, Claire leans close to him and yells to be heard over the loud noise, “I thought he was straight, but that was the longest eye-fuck I’ve ever seen him give!”</p>
<p>“Lucifer?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, dumbass! Lucifer!”</p>
<p>Sam thrills. Lucifer’s eyes wander over to him again but only briefly this time, then they make a switch of who plays what, and Gabriel takes center stage, putting Lucifer behind the drums and Michael by the keyboard. Gabe performs ‘Dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac, then a switch again where Lucifer takes the lead on ‘Weak’ by Skunk Anansie, then Michael sings ‘Because of you’ by Kelly Clarkson. They play another couple of songs Sam’s unfamiliar with too. Lucifer keeps meeting his gaze throughout, wearing suggestive or flirty expressions, even if he doesn’t keep eye contact for as long as the first time. The band as a whole is <i>really</i> good. All of them have charisma, and a presence on stage Sam’s never experienced before. Granted, that might not be hard to achieve, as Sam hasn’t seen much live music. Marching bands in parades, performances by fellow students in grade- and high school, the occasional guitar player performing on the street. He’s mostly read about artists rather than listening to their music. But by the time they take a break, Sam’s having friggin’ revelations. He’s practically high as he follows Claire back to the bar.</p>
<p>“Wow. They’re really good. I haven’t seen much live music,” he admits, “but they don’t feel like a band you’d find playing at a bar. Even a bar as big as this one.”</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Claire agrees. “They are great. Great energy. I’ve watched famous bands filling stadiums with less presence on stage. Some artists are studio performers, and others are made to play live.” She buys two beers and hands him one without asking, then jumps up on a barstool, hooks a finger in the hem of his pants, and pulls him in to stand between her legs.</p>
<p>Sam automatically rests a hand on her hip. “Do you go to a lot of concerts?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Claire answers around a drink of beer. She lowers the bottle and dries her mouth with the back of her leather jacket’s sleeve. “Yes. I’ve gone to any concert I’ve been able to since I was thirteen. Music’s always better live. These guys play here every Wednesday and Saturday. I’m hooked. And by the look on your face, so are you.”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “I guess I am.” He takes a sip of beer.</p>
<p>“Michael’s hot, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah, sure. But Lucifer’s… he’s…”</p>
<p>“A total asshole. Take my word for it,” Claire states dryly. “Don’t waste your time.”</p>
<p>Sam looks at the empty stage, thinking of the blond man with the dangerous blue gaze and his belly does a swoop. He’s not convinced.</p>
<p>Claire makes sure they’re back by the stage in time to have a good view. This time Sam barely looks away from Lucifer. He can’t explain what it is about the man that has him so entranced or why it feels like he gets an electric shock every time their eyes meet. </p>
<p>After the band’s finished playing, Claire pulls him along to another part of the bar where their friends have converged. She stands in front of him, leaned against his chest, and tugs one of his arms around her midriff. Sam can barely follow the conversation. He’s spacing out, a jittery, restless feeling in his body, while at the same time being content standing still, drifting in his own head. He’s having all kinds of thoughts he’s not used to having about strangers. He wonders what it would be kissing Lucifer, what kind of person he is, and what he’s like in bed. Alien questions that buzz under his skin like flies.</p>
<p>He nods and smiles at something Ennis says because it seems to be the right reaction, then throws a look around the room.</p>
<p>He spots the band sitting with several women by a table in the far back. His heart skips a beat when he realizes Lucifer is looking at him. He <i>knows</i> that look. He’s never been so ecstatic to be on the receiving end of it before. The older man (in his early thirties, perhaps?) averts his gaze as soon as he sees that Sam’s noticed.</p>
<p>Sam’s initial reaction is to walk straight over there. But as soon as he’s thought the thought, a sudden nervousness roots him to the spot.</p>
<p>Sam’s often mistaken for shy. He's really not. He's well mannered, obedient, and doesn't need or seek much attention from other people. People, in general, are like NPCs in one of Dean’s video games to him. They can be approached at will but rarely have anything useful to say, or they want him to do stuff for them. </p>
<p>This nervousness about talking to someone is rare. He’s felt it before when doing presentations before a group or when he ran away from home and worried about how he would make it. He turns back to the group and laughs at a joke someone made that he didn’t hear but made everyone laugh. He can swear his back is burning from being turned to Lucifer. His pulse is beating fast, and he's 100% aware of the band sitting in the back just as he’s utterly oblivious to what his friends are saying. He smiles and frowns when the rest of them does, but he couldn’t repeat a word said if his life depended on it.</p>
<p>Twisting his head, he yet again catches Lucifer staring. He smiles at him, but Lucifer looks away without returning the smile.</p>
<p>Sam suddenly worries he’s wrong. He’s standing here with Claire and several other pretty girls. What if he’s deluding himself? He frees himself from Claire then walks across the room to lean against the wall, keeping his eyes on Lucifer.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take long before the blond man looks at the group of friends Sam’s been standing with, frowns, and starts scanning the rest of the room until he finds Sam. His face smooths out, and he looks away again.</p>
<p>
  <i>Okay. Not just wishful thinking then.</i>
</p>
<p>Sam takes a deep breath to steel himself, ignoring the chickenshit part of him that wants to run away screaming, and walks over to the band’s table.</p>
<p>Lucifer throws a look his way, eyes widening in what Sam would say is panic, cheeks getting rosy, before shuttering down into a bored, unreadable expression, looking away like he hadn’t noticed Sam approaching. He’s slouching on one side of the table, arms draped across the backrests of the chairs beside him, legs outstretched under the table. Michael sits the same way opposite him, but manages to make it less of a slouch and more of a confident lean. Gabe’s on the short end of the table, and there are four women between them. Sam’s so nervous he wants to throw up. His heart’s racing, and his cheeks feel hot.</p>
<p>He stops beside Lucifer, hands in his pockets, thumbs poking out, and smiles. “Hi. Good gig tonight.” Is that what you say to musicians? He’s read novels in settings like this, but fiction and reality don’t always align.</p>
<p>Lucifer tilts his head to the side and eyes him from under heavy eyelids. “Mhm. What do you want, kid?” he asks, aura forbidding and rejecting.</p>
<p>“I figured we ought to get to know each other better, so I came over to spare you the work of having to come to me,” Sam answers with a lopsided smile, feeling like the ground beneath him disappears because this isn’t going like it should.</p>
<p>Gabriel jeers in delight, and suddenly everybody by the table is looking at him, adding the weight of the world in pressure.</p>
<p>Lucifer scoffs. “I’m straight. And tell me, kid. Where on my forehead is the stamp that says I’m a pervert?”</p>
<p>Sam’s belly is one big lump of ice. He scowls. “There’s nothing perverted about being with another guy,” he deadpans in defense, sure that his cheeks are burning crimson in mortification.</p>
<p>“No,” Lucifer agrees. “But being with someone underaged <i>is</i>.”</p>
<p>“I’m not―!”</p>
<p>“Piss off.”</p>
<p>Sam’s lips draw into a thin line. He’s perilously close to crying, which is absurd. He’s not even sure if it’s because of the humiliation, the anger, or the rejection. His fists clench at his side, and he can’t think of a good comeback no matter how hard he tries as Lucifer’s cold eyes bore into him. He starts turning away when he can’t take it anymore, but Michael grabs his wrist.</p>
<p>“Hey. Don’t listen to my asshole brother. He’s got a cactus perpetually shoved up his ass. Here, sit down. We don’t treat our fans this way.” Michael smiles invitingly at him and makes the woman at his side scoot inward, moving after her so a chair opens up beside him. He tugs insistently on Sam’s wrist but not holding so hard that Sam couldn’t get loose if he really wanted to. Sam sits down, and Michael gives him a brilliant smile before waving a waitress over. “Katia? A Long Island for my friend here and two rounds of shots for all of us. Put it on my tab.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to buy me anything,” Sam tells him, still unsure if he should remain seated since Lucifer is glaring daggers at Michael. </p>
<p>Michael drapes his arm around the backrest of Sam’s chair. “Nonsense. Consider it a peace offer.” He leans in to whisper in Sam's ear, and Lucifer bristles silently across the table. “It’s on the house. Whatever we order is for free.” He leans away to wink conspiratorially.  </p>
<p>Sam gives him an uncertain smile. “Well, if you put it like that…”</p>
<p>“That’s what I wanted to hear. So, you liked the show, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. You were awesome. Best live performance I've ever seen,” Sam enthuses honestly. </p>
<p>“Brown-nosing won’t get you far,” Lucifer scoffs. </p>
<p>Sam gives him a flat look, ignoring the sinking feeling Lucifer’s continued hostility causes. “I haven’t seen many live performances, though,” he deadpans. </p>
<p>Michael and Gabriel laugh, as well as two of the women. Lucifer’s lips twitch as if he’s fighting a smirk. It'll have to count as a win.</p>
<p>“I like this guy. He gives with one hand and takes with the other,” Gabriel states with a grin and raises his glass at Sam.</p>
<p>“I haven’t seen you here before. What’s your name?” Michael asks, all charm.</p>
<p>“Sam.”</p>
<p>“Sam. That’s a nice name. I'm Michael. Shortstop over there is Gabe, and Mr. Grumpyhead’s real name is Nick. You new in town?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m a student at the college here. Been here for a year now.”</p>
<p>“Really? You've got a student ID I can see?”</p>
<p>Sam reaches for his wallet in the face of Michael’s open curiosity. “Sure. I―” He’s already taking the student ID out of his wallet when he freezes, seeing the trap. He’s conditioned to obey, yes, but he’s not usually this dumb.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, Sam. We’re not going to get you kicked out. We, too, used to sneak into bars all the time before we turned 21,” Michael soothes and snatches the ID from Sam. He looks at it and raises an eyebrow with an almost triumphant smirk. “19, huh?” He flips the card over so Nick can see, at the same time as he leans over Sam to peer at the driver’s license in his wallet. “Would you look at that, Nicky? He isn’t a minor, so you can pull that stick from your ass and lighten up.” Nick narrows his eyes and doesn’t look convinced. Michael hands Sam his student ID back. “Thanks, Sam. You’re quite photogenic. I don’t look half as good on any of my pictures,” he compliments. It’s a bullshit compliment from somebody with such handsome features as Michael. Sam puts his ID and wallet back before anyone in the staff can see. Just in time, as their waitress brings the drinks just a beat later.</p>
<p>Sam stretches his legs out under the table. He bumps into two sets of legs. The woman beside Nick withdraws her feet with a ‘sorry’, but Nick doesn’t move an inch, letting Sam’s leg rest against his without as much as an acknowledgement. Sam really wishes his insides would stop going haywire because of it. The guy’s a jerk, just like Claire said. ”So how old are you?” he asks.</p>
<p>“I’m thirty. Nick’s twenty-eight, <i>only nine years</i> older than you,” Michael says, giving Nick a pointed look while emphasizing the age difference. “And Gabe’s twenty-five. How come I’ve never seen you around here before? We came here fairly frequently even before we started playing here.” Michael’s all suave and cordial, but Sam still doesn’t really get a vibe of real interest from him. Smile, compliments, and the arm behind his back be damned, the look in his eyes is neutrally friendly.</p>
<p>“I don’t go out much.”</p>
<p>“Such a shame. The bar scene can definitely do with a dimpled smile like yours. Your dimples, Sam. I swear it, they can make a man miss a beat while playing bass.” The shit-eating smirk he sends across the table explains what he’s doing. Nick’s nostrils flare. He looks away and takes a long swallow of his drink. Sam’s certain Nick’s cheeks color, but Nick doesn’t acknowledge the brotherly teasing.</p>
<p>One Long Island ice tea, and far too many shots later, Sam’s head’s swimming. After the initial tense awkwardness, normal conversation resumed around the table. Mostly about events and people Sam knew nothing about. Even Nick relaxed somewhat, though he stubbornly refused to talk directly with Sam. At one time, Gabe tells a story that has all of them in stitches. While laughing, Nick meets Sam’s gaze and time stops. Nick’s blue eyes turn Sam into a doofy puddle of goo when they’re not hostile. He hates himself for it.</p>
<p>He hates Gabe even more for saying something behind a fake cough, making Nick jerk and glare first at Gabe, then give Sam an annoyed look that sends him plummeting from his exalted state.</p>
<p>Anytime Sam starts feeling too left out, Michael turns his attention to him and starts talking. The man seems to have a sixth sense for when anyone in the company needs attention. He reminds Sam a bit of Dean. He can’t say why, but he feels safe.</p>
<p>“I need to cut myself off and go home now. I’m getting too drunk. I’m already way past my usual limit,” Sam divulges with slightly slurred speech. He really doesn’t want to go. He wants to sit here forever and stare at the asshole across from him, feel the contact between their legs burn and tingle like it’s turning his blood’s into soda pop. </p>
<p>Michael’s arm comes down from the backrest to hook around his neck, pulling Sam against his chest. Sam’s too drunk to offer any resistance, or to want to. “Aww. Here I was going to convince you to come with us to the afterparty. But your girlfriend’s been waiting for you for almost an hour, so I might let you go after all.” His eye-whites are reddish and cheeks rosy from a drunken flush, making his perfect teeth shine even whiter as he smiles. He’s talking quietly to make their conversation private.</p>
<p>“M’ girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend?”</p>
<p>Mike sends a pointed look behind. Sam twists his head to see Claire lounging alone by the bar, keeping an eye on him.</p>
<p>“Claire? She’s not my― She’s still here?” Sam asks, dumbfounded.</p>
<p>“Mhm. And I think you better go to her. But before you go, here,” Mike hands him his cell phone, “Put your number into it.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Sam blurts. He’s being really dumb. He can feel how slow his mind is. He’s read about all the damage alcohol causes to the body and mind. That’s why he never drinks this much. Never has and never thought he would. But it feels fantastic, relaxing, making him happy.</p>
<p>Michael’s smile widens, gets lopsided. “So I can contact you, of course.”</p>
<p>“Right, of course.” Sam’s vision is blurry, but he manages to program in his number. Somewhere deep down there’s a bitter feeling stirring. Bitter, because naturally this is yet another man who’ll take his number to be able to call him whenever, but not allow him to contact him back. That’s how it goes. That’s how it always goes. Still, when he hands the phone back, he smiles up at Michael, finds Michael’s amused face much too close, and lands a small peck on Michael’s mouth on frigging auto-pilot. Cursing internally at his drunken lack of tact and inhibition, he’s about to say he’s sorry for overstepping, leaning away, when Michael pulls him back and lands a kiss that’s as unchaste as you can go without using tongues. Sam’s surprised, because Michael’s not given any indication that he wanted that. He’s a good boy, so he goes with it, and while it’s the wrong brother, it’s not unpleasant in any way.</p>
<p>Suddenly Sam feels Nick’s legs move with a jerk. Half a beat later, Michael grunts into his mouth as he gets his shin kicked. Michael breaks the kiss with a silent snigger and looks at Sam like they’ve just pulled a prank rather than kissed. “We play again on Wednesday. You coming to see us?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Promise?”</p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>“Good. I’m holding you to that,” Michael smiles. His smile seems like a perpetual thing, except for on stage. He hadn’t been smiling when he sang ‘Because of You’ by Kelly Clarkson. It had been like the song was ripped from his soul. Sam briefly wonders about that until he’s let go and can get to his feet.</p>
<p>“You want one too?” Sam asks Nick cockily to hide his hopefulness.</p>
<p>The look Nick gives him says ‘yes’, but his words aren’t as agreeable. “No. Little boys shouldn’t play with fire. Now, get out of here.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, all.” He waves goodbye and staggers over to Claire at the bar. “Heyy. Are you waiting for me?”</p>
<p>“Would seem that way, hotshot.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Claire rolls her eyes, sinks the last of her beer, and glides off of the barstool.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you come over?” Sam asks in confusion when she doesn’t answer.</p>
<p>“I’ve done my rounds as a groupie to too many bands. It's a bad habit I’m trying to quit. Come on. We’re getting out of here. Your place, not mine.” She grabs him by the arm and hauls him towards the exit. By the door, he stops and looks back. Nick’s staring at him again. On impulse, Sam blows him a kiss. Nick’s arm shoots out and mimics catching it, wearing a challenging smirk. Sam’s heart flutters. Nick’s giving him completely opposing signals and he all but floats on a little cloud as Claire pulls him out from the bar.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The first song played is 'River' by Bishop Briggs. For one reason or another, the links didn't work. </p>
<p>At this point, it's hard to imagine Nick/Lucifer will be one of the best encounters in Sam's life, huh? ^^<br/>There is a considerable age difference here too, and Nick is throwing a very unsubtle red flag parade that would make almost anyone without issues think "Go fuck yourself" and lose interest. But in this case, the age difference might actually not be a bad thing (I'll explain why in later chapter notes). And in the next chapter, we'll start to see why the encounter with the Archangels might be the most important encounter in Sam's life.</p>
<p>Please drop a comment. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam has an experience that breaks previous patterns in his life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this chapter and forward I'll start jumping between different point of view characters. I hope the shifts won't be too jarring.<br/>I might as well warn for offensive language, as usual. Our heroes are good-hearted, but they're not politically correct. </p>
<p>I should've waited before publishing this but I'm psyched to let you see why Nick was acting like an asshole and give you a glimpse of who Mikey really is when he's not fresh off the stage riding an adrenaline rush. :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>“You could stay, you know?” Sam says without opening his eyes.<p>“Oh, goodie. You’re awake,” Claire snarks sarcastically.</p>
<p>“No. I’m talking in my sleep. Still, you don’t have to go.”</p>
<p>“You get that this meant nothing, right? This isn’t going to be a recurring thing?”</p>
<p>Sam smiles to himself, still half-asleep and drunk. “I was that bad, huh?”</p>
<p>Claire snorts. “No. And with a cock that size, I can entertain myself anyway. But that doesn’t mean―”</p>
<p>Sam finally opens his eyes. “Claire. I’m telling you you don’t <i>have</i> to go. I’m not asking you to stay. It’s the middle of the night, and we both fit on the bed. Nothing else.”</p>
<p>She stops pulling on the fishnets she’d worn under her ripped, skin-tight jeans and looks at him, actually considering.</p>
<p>She’s nothing like Jess and Sarah. Tattoos and piercings aside, she’s a wildcat who knows what she wants and gets so into it, it’s like she turns into another person. She’s mouthy but craved for him to be rough and bossy. He’s not sure he’s comfortable with that. He'll have to think it over - something he generally avoids doing when it comes to sex. However, she'd bought him drinks, and a hamburger on the way home, <i>plus</i> put up with him talking about Nick nonstop until they got to his place. He'd owed her to give her what she wanted.</p>
<p>“No. I think I'll pass this time. You don’t even have a coffee maker,” Claire answers and continues dressing. </p>
<p>“You’re pretty,” Sam states, watching her. </p>
<p>She laughs mirthlessly. “First compliment of the evening, and you give it when my makeup is ruined, and my hair's a mess.”</p>
<p>“Still true, though.”</p>
<p>Claire makes short work of dressing, a small smile on her lips. She stands in front of the mirror to put on lipstick. “Don’t go getting ideas. I'm not your girlfriend, and we're not dating, but…” She writes her phone number in lipstick on the mirror, gives him a wink, and then leaves without a goodbye. </p>
<p>Considering that she’s a girl, she’s surprisingly easy to understand. Briefly, he wonders if he’ll ever be of use to anyone for other reasons than his body. He shies away from that thought as it makes something uncomfortable crawl under his skin. </p>
<p>Sam closes his eyes. Nick’s face comfortingly dances before him as sleep overtakes him.</p>
<p>Nick’s also the first thing on his mind when he wakes up, long past noon. The next thing is regret at having drunk too much, as a nasty headache and rolling stomach assaults him. He carefully gets out of bed, goes to relieve himself, then finds his aspirin, and downs a pill with as much water as possible. He forces himself to eat, drinks some juice, and feels a bit better.</p>
<p>He finds his phone, intending to program Claire’s number into it, just to see that he’s got several messages from an unknown number.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Unknown number:</b> I apologize for kissing you. (Which was nice, btw) I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make my brother jealous. Hope I didn’t scare you away. /Michael</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam stares at the first text with wide-eyed wonder. Michael’s apologizing to <i>him</i>? Not that he’d minded the kiss. He agrees that it was nice. Michael’s a nice guy. Good looking and caring. But why would he feel obliged to apologize? Sam had kissed him first, after all.</p>
<p>The next text brings another pleasant surprise.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Unknown number:</b> So this is my phone number, if it isn’t obvious. I keep the sound off when I’m in a meeting or asleep, so feel free to get in touch if you feel like it. We enjoyed your company and would prefer it if you weren’t a one-hit-wonder. ;)</tt>
</p>
<p>‘We’? Sam wonders if that includes Nick. </p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Unknown number:</b> Am I coming across as a fuckboy? I never know when it comes to texting. Phones make me nervous. I’m even worse when it comes to calling. If you prefer talking on the phone, you need to call. I’m a texter.</tt>
</p>
<p>Michael nervous? Never! It's next to impossible to picture the confident musician as nervous about phone calls. </p>
<p>The last message includes a group selfie of the band. Nick and Michael are smiling drunkenly at the camera while Gabe makes a funny face over their heads. The text reads ‘In case you were too drunk to remember us’.</p>
<p>Sam makes an undignified, delighted noise and stares at the picture. He wonders if Nick knew that Michael would send the pic to Sam when it was taken. He's smiling at the camera, after all. His eyes are so blue under the heavy eyelids. He's got a hint of scruff, and the black T-shirt strains over his shoulders. </p>
<p>He's perfect. </p>
<p>Butterflies are going mad in Sam's belly. He's blushing, and he's just looking at a frigging picture. </p>
<p>
  <i>This is what Brady was talking about! It must be, right?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Holy shit. Did I make Brady feel like this?</i>
</p>
<p>There's a pang of guilt at not feeling like this for Brady. He wishes he had. God, what wouldn't he give to make Nick feel like this for him!</p>
<p>All the romance books suddenly make perfect sense. Romeo and Juliet makes <i>sense</i>. He'd never thought he'd see the day. </p>
<p>He can't tell how long he lies on the bed staring at the picture l before he starts feeling guilty towards Kelvin. He sets the picture as both lock screen and home screen background, saves Michael’s number, using a crop of his face as an icon, to his phone book.</p>
<p>Against better judgment, he sends Kelvin a text. </p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> I miss you. </tt>
</p>
<p>It's a lie. His head is full of Nick. </p>
<p>He gets an answer within minutes. </p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Prof. Kelvin:</b> I thought I told you never to contact me when I'm with my family?</tt>
</p>
<p>Then another text.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Prof. Kelvin:</b> I miss you too. </tt>
</p>
<p>It's already too late. The instant reprimand stands in stark contrast to Michael's inviting text. </p>
<p>There's only one way to find out if Michael's offer is sincere. Sam calls him.</p>
<p>Michael picks up on the third ring. “Y...ello?” His voice is gruff and confused like he just woke up.</p>
<p>“I thought you shut the sound off when you slept.”</p>
<p>“Who's thi― Sam! Hi. Um.” Michael clears his throat to get his voice to cooperate. “Yeah. But we pulled an all-nighter, and I didn't exactly plan my unconsciousness.”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry. I can call back later?”</p>
<p>“N-no. It's fine. I―“ There's a loud crash followed by a splash. Michael yelps and curses loudly. “Can I call you back in a minute?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure.” </p>
<p>Michael calls back ten minutes later. “Sorry about that. Gabe had set a trap. A little tip, don't fall asleep anywhere he can get at you, and don't accept edibles from him except for when he's at work. That, and always bring a change of clothes when hanging out with him,” he lists with the dead voice of someone who’s lost and accepted that their war can never be won.</p>
<p>“Oookay?”</p>
<p>“He's an incorrigible prankster. If he likes you, you don't have to risk lasting damages. So there's that.”</p>
<p>Michael sounds so defeated that Sam has to laugh. “So why is it okay to accept edibles from him at work and not anywhere else?”</p>
<p>“Because he's smart enough to keep his job? He’s a pastry chef.”</p>
<p>“And you? What do you work with?”</p>
<p>“I, uh. Do I have to tell you? I'll lose all my street cred. It’s embarrassing,” Michael flusters. </p>
<p>“Okay, now I'm really curious.”</p>
<p>“I'm an accountant? Totally boring, I know, I know. But it pays the rent.”</p>
<p>“Huh. With how embarrassed you were to tell me I'd expected you to be a toll booth operator or something,” Sam jokes. </p>
<p>Michael chuckles. “I'd say it's about the same level of trite.”</p>
<p>“True. And what does Nick do?”</p>
<p>“He’s a construction engineer. Well. A construction worker with a degree in engineering. The only one who had an inkling as to what he wanted to do in life was Gabe. I'm good at math, so I took a degree in economics. Nick’s good with his hands, so he went with engineering. Gabe… as long as his job involves lots of sugar and explosions, he's happy.”</p>
<p>Sam emits a surprised laugh. “<i>Explosions</i>? I don’t know much about being a pastry chef, but that doesn’t sound quite right.”</p>
<p>Michael chuckles. “Oh, I know. But leave Gabe alone in a kitchen and he gets creative. If you want to combine desserts with pyrotechnics, he’s your man. It may sound like a joke, but he actually gets to do it surprisingly often in his job.”</p>
<p>“<i>How?</i>”</p>
<p>“He makes custom made cakes, mostly. And he’s made an art form out of making large cakes that shoot edible confetti or have sparklers and stuff like that. He’s very artistic and makes all kinds of custom made cakes.” Michael chuckles as if he remembers something funny. “Speaking of… you’ve seen pictures of how you can make cakes look like objects?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s the kind of pastry chef Gabe is. And to give you an example of how much energy he’ll put into even the most harmless of pranks; He’d just moved into his apartment and invited us over for a little party. So we got there, corked up the Champagne, and went to sit down. Only, the little bastard had made an armchair completely out of cake. Not that he told us. Oh no. To us, it looked like any other black leather chair. So Nicky sits down and falls right through it, covered from head to toe in chocolate mousse, and angry like a bee,” Michael tells Sam, giggling his way through the memory.</p>
<p>Sam laughs. “I wish I could have seen that.”</p>
<p>“You can. I got it on camera by sheer luck. Stop by someday, and I’ll show you. You’ll see what a magnificent shade of crimson Nick can turn when he’s enraged.”</p>
<p>Sam grins. “Say… about the picture you sent me…?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Did Nick know you were going to send it to me?”</p>
<p>Sam can hear the amusement in Michael’s voice. “Yes, Sam. He was fully aware.”</p>
<p>“But… he was smiling?”</p>
<p>Michael sniggers. “Indeed, he was. I told you, we like you. Nick too. So… you like my brother, huh?”</p>
<p>Sudden, crippling shyness makes Sam flip over and hide his face in his pillow. “I don’t know…” he lies.</p>
<p>Michael laughs out loud. “<i>Unbelievable</i>. There must be a God, after all, if you still like him after how he behaved yesterday.” His grin carries strongly over his voice. “Sam, I’m not going to apologize for my brother acting like a freaking retard. He’s a grown man and responsible for his own actions even when he’s behaving like a 5-year-old. I’ll give you fair warning. He’s got more spines than a pufferfish and will inflate for the least disturbance of his equilibrium, whether good or bad. Just so we’re clear.”</p>
<p>“He wasn’t <i>that</i> bad,” Sam defends.</p>
<p>Michael sniggers breathily. “Well, I love the bastard, so I’m not the best person to judge. You’re still coming on Wednesday, right?”</p>
<p>“I promised, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did. Hey, can you send a selfie I can use for your icon in my phone book?”</p>
<p>Sam doesn’t even hesitate before snapping a photo and sending it.</p><hr/>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>NICK</b>
  </p>
</div><hr/>
<p>Michael drops down in the chair opposite Nick with a suspiciously smug expression. “You're late,” Nick reprimands. </p>
<p>“Mhm.” Michael looks like he's full of shit, and he hasn't even opened his mouth. </p>
<p>“I ordered for you.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>Nick takes an envelope out of his pocket and hands it over. “Gabe couldn't make a payment for Ella's treatment this month. His crap car broke down again.”</p>
<p>Michael opens the envelope, quickly counting the money. He looks up and raises an eyebrow. </p>
<p>Nick rubs his neck guiltily. “I bought a new amplifier.”</p>
<p>Michael nods and pockets the money. “Don't sweat it. Ella would refuse to accept any money at all from us if she thought it affected our quality of life. You know that.”</p>
<p>“I know. I still think it would’ve been better if we lived together all three of us, and poured all of it into getting her the surgery and medications she needs. But she's just too fucking stubborn.”</p>
<p>“I wonder where she got that from,” Michael smirks. </p>
<p>“We can't <i>all</i> be pushovers.”</p>
<p>Michael gives him a flat look but doesn't dignify it with an answer. It's not even true anymore. Little by little, Michael had lost his ‘Yessirs’ and stopped ducking his head. His social anxiety is far from gone, but now he'd occasionally make friends with people outside of the three of them, act confident towards bosses and clients, and there is no trace of his stutter except for in the most extreme circumstances. </p>
<p>Their food arrives along with their beers. Nick's not hungry, but Michael dives in with a good appetite. Nick pokes at his food, takes a small bite, and then shuffles the food around his plate. “So, are you planning to tell me why you're late, or do I have to drag it out of you?”</p>
<p>“I was on the phone and forgot about the time.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Stuck on hold listening to pause music?”</p>
<p>“Nope. A bonafide two-hour conversation.”</p>
<p>“Ella?”</p>
<p>Michael shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Gabe?”</p>
<p>Another head shake, and now the spark of mischief is back in Michael’s eyes.</p>
<p>“Chuck?”</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “Stop grinning like a little shit and <i>tell me</i>. I can see you want to.”</p>
<p>“Your boyfriend.”</p>
<p>“My boyf― <i>Sam?</i> You <i>called</i> him?!” Nick’s heart rate spikes in trepidation and excitement. Sam's the very reason he's barely slept or eaten since yesterday, hangover be damned. </p>
<p>Michael laughs. “Yes, that's likely.”</p>
<p>“He called you?”</p>
<p>“Yes, he did. He woke me up, or I might not have dared to answer. Then I sat up and triggered one of Gabe’s booby traps, so I had to call him back.”</p>
<p>“But you did.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Only took me five minutes of deep breaths to muster up the courage,” Michael tells him proudly. </p>
<p>Usually, that'd be cause for a high five. But now it's Sam they're talking about - the boy who'd made him miss a cue at first sight and then almost forget the rest of the audience. Instead, ugly jealousy wells up inside. “And you talked for two hours?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. He's really easy to talk to. He's got one older brother, and his mom died when he was an infant. He's lived all over and barely seen anything but the inside of the town libraries.”</p>
<p>“So he's a nerd?”</p>
<p>“So he claims. He's in college with a full ride, but admitted to cheating when writing papers sometimes. Although, when he explained how, I'd say he's got a skewed image of what cheating really is.”</p>
<p>“In what way?”</p>
<p>“When writing a paper on a book, answering questions like what a character felt or why they acted a certain way, if he doesn’t know the answer, he'll go online and casually read ten or twenty other papers on the same book to find out what other people said and what their answers have in common. Then he writes his answers based on that, but in his own words and with his own thoughts integrated.”</p>
<p>“That seems like awfully lot of work not to have to read a book.”</p>
<p>“Oh, he always reads it. He’s just very keen on making sure the teachers get the answers they’re looking for.”</p>
<p>Nick narrows his eyes thoughtfully at that. His own school years had been devoted to anything but pleasing the teachers. There'd simply been too much hate and distrust towards adults. “So, a smart nerd?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. But he can’t be too nerdy. You saw the people he was hanging out with. Some of them wouldn’t touch a real nerd with a stick.”</p>
<p>“And his girlfriend?”</p>
<p>“Not his girlfriend, his lay for the night.” Nick tries to hide the stinging jealousy. Michael sees right through him and sniggers. “With other words, he's single,” Michael goes on. “And seemingly lacking any self-consciousness, <i>unless</i> talking about you. Then he turned adorably flustered. Even defended you, saying you weren’t so bad, when I brought up you’re a retard and that I won’t apologize for your behavior because you’re old enough to know better. He likes you, Nicky. He’s <i>really</i> into you.”</p>
<p>Colorful fireworks of joy flare to life within. Apparently, something else he fails to hide, judging by Michael’s amused expression. Nick quickly reminds himself why he should forget all about the dimpled smile and the color-shifting eyes that have him completely messed up without even trying. After one meeting, to boot. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.”</p>
<p>Michael laughs like he made a great joke.</p>
<p>Nick leans forward over the table, pushing his plate to the side, largely uneaten. “Mikey, he’s <i>underaged</i>. Committing a thought crime is one thing. But let myself turn into one of ‘<i>them</i>’? Never!”</p>
<p>“Nick, you shithead, he’s <i>nineteen</i>. I saw both his student ID and his driver’s license. I don’t know how you got into your head that he’s underaged. He doesn’t strike me as immature.”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t say he’s immature. A bit naive, perhaps, but that’s not it. He’s still got his baby fat, his body’s lanky as if he’s yet to start to fill out and settle in his frame, and his clothes are too small as if he’s doing the last growth spurt. And when is that? Sixteen? Seventeen? The only reason he gets away with it is that he makes it look like a fashion statement. And <i>don’t</i> give me any crap about ‘in some states it’s legal’. It’s not prison I’m worried about, and you know it.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to because I don’t believe he’s underaged. First off, he might have come into his last growth spurt late, just like you and I were early, and Gabe is <i>still</i> pocket-sized for convenience. Secondly, you’re judging people’s age from their clothes now? That’s ridiculous. He’s a college student. For all we know, he’s wearing his big brother’s castoffs and can’t afford a shopping spree. I’m calling bullshit on all this. You haven’t been able to think a coherent thought since you laid eyes on him, and now you’re scared and scrambling for any useless excuse not to put your heart on the line.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Let’s pretend for a minute that he isn’t underage, which, I don’t believe for a second. But let’s pretend. What have I got to offer that won’t leave him ruined? Look at us, Michael. Our version of revenge on those who fucked us over is that we’re not in jail, haven’t ODd in some dirty toilet, haven’t committed suicide, and manage to keep somewhat respectable jobs without screwing up. That’s how low the bar is set. And you know as well as I do, that we’re always tethering on the edge of backsliding. Sam seems like a great guy. If I pursued him, he’d be dragged down by all my shit and would be destroyed in no time. He deserves better.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” Michael says flatly with a skeptical expression. “So you’re not interested?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Not in the least?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Michael nods decisively. “Okay. If you say so.” He looks down, takes up his phone, and fiddles with it. “So… that means you don’t want me to send you this, then?” he says offhandedly and holds up his phone, displaying a selfie of Sam.</p>
<p>Nick launches for it. </p>
<p>Michael pulls it out of reach, cackling.</p>
<p>Nick hates him.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <tt>The wolf was dirty and scarred, but underneath the grime, he had thick white fur that would shine stark bright if he washed. He pinned Little Bird with hungry golden eyes and licked the sharp, yellow teeth in his red maw. Little Bird recognized the want in the wolf’s gaze when he eyed the soft down on Little Bird’s back. The wolf stalked around Little Bird slowly, saliva dripping from his lolling tongue. Little Bird huddled in fright, prepared for the pain that would surely come when the wolf tore out his downy feathers and left him to freeze to death.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>The Wolf sniffed Little Bird with a frightful leer. “My, my. Those are awfully soft feathers you’ve got there, Little Bird. So soft, a bad wolf like myself might want to take them from you.”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>”Y-you can have them, i-if you want to. But let me p-pull them out myself, so i-it won’t hurt as much,” stuttered Little Bird. He knew he stood no chance against the wolf.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>The wolf chuckled darkly, its fearsome face so close it almost touched Little Bird. Then it backed away. “Not this time, Little Bird. But you better fly away, because the next time I might not be so generous.” Then the wolf turned and trotted away, leaving Little Bird shivering in fright.</tt>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nick:<br/></p>
<p>So, the archangels are older than Sam, but they set a good example of a much more responsible mindset for an adult to have. When they talk about minors their frame of reference is the age of consent (18 in California at the time this plays out) and the age you're allowed to join the military without parental consent, which is 18 y/o. They don't set the bar at the same height for what is an okay age difference for a relationship. Nick would probably not touch a 19-year-old either, even if he's protesting because he thinks Sam is younger. Mike thinks a 19-year-old is perfectly fine to be with, considering them as young adults, but he also thinks it depends on the individual. If Sam had come across like a 'little bird', Mike would be as hesitant as Nick to cheer on Nick's crush. But Sam comes across as confident and self-assured to those who don't know him. At this point, just as Brady said, Sam's still a mirage.<br/>So Mike and Nick are from different schools of thought due to their different life experiences. </p>
<p>Please comment! I'm so happy you're on this journey with me and your comments are food for my soul. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. URIEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's out of money and getting desperate. Because of it, he says yes to a job he wishes he hadn't. But he learns that not everyone who hurts you is bad for you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Stronger warnings for this chapter:</b><br/>Non-graphic rape<br/>abuse<br/>forced drug use</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>“Is he here yet?”<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>“Then where is he? Do you think something's happened?”</p>
<p>“No. Maybe he's finally grown tired of you treating him like shit. Maybe he's got a life outside of us? Maybe he's got to work? He's under no obligation to watch us play just because you want him to,” Michael rattles off irritably and puts on more eyeliner. The fact that Michael uses makeup today and that he spent a suspiciously long time in the toilet speaks for this being a bad day for him. The eyeliner serves to cement Michael's rockstar persona and to separate him from the shy, scared, and repressed man he usually is. One would have thought taking to the stage would have the opposite effect. Instead, it worked better than any anti-anxiety medicine, and the ensuing high brought underlying confidence to the fore when he socialized afterward. </p>
<p>Michael might be the softest, most caring, and humble person Nick’s ever been fortunate enough to get to know. He has a deep need for strong emotional connections and physical touch. Unfortunately, the women that fell for him when he was on stage would lose interest when they got to see his real personality. </p>
<p>Nick could relate to the divide between the stage and offstage. On stage, he was courting the hell out of Sam - flirting, showing off, being monumentally stupid, and not finding the strength to stop himself. The stage was safe. Offstage he'd done all he could to discourage the boy. Which, admittedly, was more challenging each time. The backside of not wanting to do something.</p>
<p>Sam had been here three times. They'd met three times, and Sam already took up most of his waking hours, making him nervous and jittery before each gig.</p>
<p>And Sam isn't fucking here. </p>
<p>“Something's wrong. I can feel it. Give me your phone.”</p>
<p>Michael hands it over with a sigh.</p>
<p>Nick finds Sam's number. His gut clenches nervously as he hits dial.</p>
<p>
  <i>Christ! How can a nineteen-possibly-sixteen year old make me feel like when I was calling my first crush at eleven? Get a grip!</i>
</p>
<p>Except, he hasn't had a grip for two weeks. </p>
<p>The tone goes through, but nobody picks up. </p>
<p>“<i>Hi. You've reached Sam Winchester. I can't take your call at the moment, but please leave a message, and I'll get back to you.</i>”</p>
<p>“Hey kid, it's Nick. What happened? The bouncers finally decided to call you out on that crap fake ID of yours? I don't see you in the audience. I suppose I have to devote my skills to someone else instead of wasting my time impressing you. Someone who knows music well enough to appreciate how good I am. The fuck are you anyway?”</p>
<p>He hangs up and finds both Gabe and Michael scowling at him. “Wow,” Gabe scoffs sarcastically. “Insult his age, devalue his opinions, <i>and</i> imply that you're going to screw someone else, all in a few sentences. It's astounding that you and Kali don't get along.”</p>
<p>Nick wants to defend himself and say that he's <i>nothing</i> like the bitch that plays with Gabe’s heart so cruelly. Except he might just have done precisely what she would have done. </p>
<p>He calls back before Michael can snatch his phone back. “In case you can't read between the lines, what I <i>meant</i> was; I'm worried something has happened to you, and I would have liked it if you came here. Call me back or text me or whatever, just so we know you're alright. My number is…” He rattles off his phone number and hangs up.</p>
<p>“Nicky, you twat. That wasn't between the lines. That was two different books entirely,” Michael scolds sourly when he retrieves his phone. “You know, the better I get to know Sam, the more I'm of a mind to warn him off from you. You don’t deserve his attention, that’s for damn sure. Not with this hot-and-cold business you've got going on. Especially after what you did this Wednesday.”</p>
<p>Yeah, that had been a cluster fuck. Apart from continually denying to be anything but straight, he’d very demonstratively hardcore made out with a random woman right in front of Sam and aced his derision towards the teen. If Sam had done that towards him, he'd be furious. </p>
<p>“Hey, he’s left with someone else every time,” Nick defends himself. </p>
<p>“And why shouldn’t he? It's not like you're giving him any cause not to.”</p>
<p>Sam hadn’t been furious. He'd shown a quiet, hurt acceptance that made Nick want to cry. <i>Emotional abuse</i>, whispers a voice inside of him. He of all people should know. Michael and Gabriel sure did, and that’s why they don’t have his back on this. This is the very thing he'd claimed he wanted to protect Sam from. Nick’s a ball of anger, distrust, and fear, with layers and layers of protection around his heart. He's a self-centered, quarrelsome, jealous, lying, bitter idiot with low impulse control, who’s been hurt by so many people that it takes ages for him to dare to trust. And when he has trusted, it has backfired 90% of the time.</p>
<p>It’s not so strange that when he sees something so beautiful and pure as Sam fucking Winchester, he wants to protect it from the taint that is himself, is it?</p>
<p>Or protect himself from these ridiculous thoughts of hope in his foolish heart.</p>
<p>Though they just keep coming without his say-so. To the degree that he found himself shamelessly singing fucking Taylor Swift’s <i>Blank Space</i> at fucking work. He’ll stubbornly claim he doesn’t believe in the infamous ‘love at first sight’, but truthfully? That’s the only way he’s ever experienced it. Mona’s shy smile at eleven, Meg’s sarcastic smirk at thirteen, and Azazel’s golden gaze at seventeen. He’s been hopelessly lost within seconds. (And although his feelings have always been returned, the results had been abysmal every time.)</p>
<p>Trying to deny it is like seeing a tsunami heading straight for you and go ‘Watch it! I've got a sandbag, and I'm not afraid to use it!’</p>
<p>Only, Sam's not here, so maybe he’s succeeded in driving the guy away. </p>
<p>Good. </p>
<p>Then he can crawl into a bottle and not come out until he's over Sam. </p>
<p>
  <i>Fuck!</i>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Today hasn’t been a good day. It’s frightening how fast money burns when you have to renew your wardrobe. And work hasn’t been going well. He’s barely earned 70 bucks, been cheated out of payment <i>twice</i>, and then a car had stopped. He’d bent down to talk to the driver, and his belly had dropped in alarm. He couldn’t tell why, but there was something off with the driver. A cop, maybe? Or someone very dangerous. So he’d made up an innocuous lie about why he’d been standing where he was and then called it a quits.</p>
<p>Despite that, his initial answer is no when Zachariah pulls up beside him, stops his car, and with a smarmy smile, offers him two grand for a 36-hour job during the weekend. (He'd miss the Archangels’ gig.)</p>
<p>But then Zachariah ups the offer to five grand. </p>
<p>That’s a <i>lot</i> of money. </p>
<p>So Sam finds himself accepting to sub at ‘a small BDSM get together’. He’s not sure what to expect, as he’s never officially subbed, but he gets that it's one of these sharing-with-friends things. After a short description, he concludes that it isn’t too far off from what he usually does. All he'd have to do is obey, let them do whatever they like, and (pretend to) enjoy it.</p>
<p>That’s how he finds himself naked, with downcast eyes, along with two other subs (one man and one woman, both older than he), catering to every need of seven men and two women, all wearing masks. </p>
<p>He slips into the numbing detachment that lets him do whatever, but he keeps having intrusive thoughts that jar him back to the present.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The thing about Sam is that Nick’s started to suspect that he's not as pure as he appears to be. It should have been evident from the fact that he’s interested in Nick, to start with. Broken pieces search for empty spaces to fit into, and they can’t fit with a whole piece - there’s no room for their jagged, brittle edges. Mona’s shy smile had distracted from the many cut marks on her body caused by her own hand. A hand that one day cut too deep. Meg’s smirk had been locked away from him in a high-security asylum. He’s still suffering the price for Azazel’s yellow gaze. It should be obvious that Sam, too, is broken to snag on Nick’s missing pieces.</p>
<p>It’s not like Nick hasn’t tried to have relationships with sound women. Obsessive and controlling, some called him. Others said indifferent and selfish. The smart ones walked out within weeks. Some stayed for up to three months. None of them would have put up with the crap Nick’s pulled on Sam this far. </p>
<p>He's poison. Michael would tell him to shove it, and list a bunch of reasons as to why he isn’t. (Gabe would agree that he's poison, but add that he’s Sam’s kind of poison with a nudge and an eyebrow wiggle.) So he can’t just say that there's something off with Sam based on him stubbornly liking Nick.</p>
<p>No. Nick’s compulsive staring has yielded some other clues.</p>
<p>How stoically Sam puts up with harassment, for one. Not only from Nick, but from others. Oh, he’ll snark. But never actually bite, and he’ll follow up with a peace offering in the next breath if necessary.</p>
<p>Sam never gives anything away about himself. Anything he says is general knowledge or diplomacy. The guy won’t even give a straight answer to which his favorite color is. When put on the spot to give his opinion, he’ll either go with the popular one or offer a piece of obscure trivia about the topic that distracts the listeners. </p>
<p>Then there’s the way he treats Claire. It’s like Sam doesn’t even realize he’s a douchebag towards her. And Claire’s also made of broken pieces, so she keeps coming back for more. </p>
<p>All this is just circumstantial evidence, but it’s enough to make Nick squint suspiciously. And definitely enough to make Nick worry and give his worst performance in forever.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He has to do some things that aren't that bad or even border on pleasant. Serving refreshments is tedious, but okay. Crawling on all fours, following one man around like a dog is new and almost fun. It could have been humiliating, but it isn't because the guests are so delighted. The best part of that game is during dinner when the man pets his head and finger-feeds him a tidbit from his plate. Zachariah spoils his guests rotten but has provided nothing for Sam. (Sam hasn’t expected him to. Previous run-ins with the man have taught him that while Zachariah pays well, he doesn’t care for providing food or water. For instance, in stark contrast to Roman, who might give gifts, never pays, but always sees to basic needs as if Sam was five years old.)</p>
<p>Seeing his chance, Sam tracks the guest’s fork with his eyes when the man eats. He makes his eyes big and sad, smacks his lips hungrily, and makes a low, whiny noise. The man looks down, startles, and then laughs in delight. “Look at this puppy!” he exclaims with a broad smile. “You hungry, boy? Want more treats from your master?”</p>
<p>Sam licks his lips and keeps looking up with his starved dog act.</p>
<p>The man smiles and picks a piece of meat from his plate, then holds it down for Sam to eat. “Good dog,” he praises and strokes Sam’s head. Sam wiggles his butt and looks up with an imitation of a dog’s adoring grin. It earns him more scraps and appreciation from other guests as well, who call for him to take tidbits from them too. It’s perfect. 36 hours is a long time to go without food, and this earns him a full stomach.</p>
<p>It's a child's game. He and Dean used to play dogs as kids. It’s fun. Until he sees the clock on the wall and realizes that the Archangels are on stage right now. With that realization comes a thought about what they would think of him if they saw him right now―naked on all fours, eating from the hands of masked strangers, in exchange for money. </p>
<p>The shame that hits him is overwhelming enough to make him stop dead for a second. Luckily he’s under the table, so nobody sees it happen. He can’t recall this happening before—this shame and self-disgust. Feelings of unease had started coming since Brady, but this? Maybe it’s because he's never had people he cared so deeply for before, that wasn’t dad or Dean. Dad or Dean would never let him go for anything he did. Brady had. Kelvin would. Michael and Nick would definitely. </p>
<p>Sam’s never understood why people thought it so wrong to trade sex for money or favors. It’s not a great taboo to have sex with strangers for free, so why is it wrong to do it for money? Dad had taught him that intimate physical touch is the greatest way of showing love, and if the world looked down on all flings and loveless hookups, Sam would have understood, but that’s not the case, so he doesn’t get it. Not that he loves every person he lets touch him, but he doesn’t mind, and that’s good enough for him. </p>
<p>Except, Nick’s derision and scorn towards him would hit the roof if he knew what Sam’s doing now.</p>
<p>Somebody taps their leg, calling him to them. He shoves the ugly, hurt thoughts aside and crawls over. The man is big, black, and wears a costly suit. He pushes his chair away from the table and pats his lap. “Come here, boy. Sit, yes, like a human. That’s it,” he praises when Sam gets up from the floor and sits across his lap. “Are you thirsty? You may speak.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p>The man asks for a bottle of water and a tall glass of juice on Sam’s behalf, tells Sam to drink at his own pace, and to remain seated in his lap, then asks Zachariah to either crank up the heat or bring a robe since Sam’s skin is cold. Zachariah raises the thermostat with an apple-polished smile. Whoever this black man is, it’s someone Zachariah wants to please.</p>
<p>Honestly, Sam’s never experienced anything like this. He’s been shared before, but then it had been solely about sex. Sex would come later, according to what he’d been told. But still…</p>
<hr/>
<p>Those intrusive thoughts keep coming, jarring him out of wherever he goes in his head in situations like this. Once playtime began, it’s no longer fun and games for him. Usually, he’s so far removed that any pain only registers when his part is done, and his memories of the event are sketchy and conceptual at best. Brady and Kelvin had started to change that. With Brady, he never had to click into that headspace, and with Kelvin, it only happened occasionally. It occurs automatically, so now, when he keeps floating up to the surface, he scrambles to understand how he usually does it. </p>
<p>“Do you like it, kitten?”</p>
<p><strike>No</strike> “Yes, Mistress.”</p>
<p>“Such a good pet. Think you can take another?”</p>
<p><strike>NO</strike> “Yes, Mistress.” It’s harder to act when you have to actually experience what happens. Especially when you're in the middle of a BDSM scene, servicing several people. He’s got no idea what the other subs are doing or where they are. He hasn’t paid any attention to them since he got here. The guests are his focus. Some are nice and some not. Funnily enough, it's not tied to whether they hurt him or not. Like the big, black man. The last time he was in the room Sam's currently tied up in, he'd crouched down to come face to face with Sam, and they'd had the most confusing conversation he’s had in a long time. </p>
<p>“Your name is Sam, correct?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p>“Just to make sure, you’re here because you want to be here?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.” He needs the money, after all. </p>
<p>“Good. Are you used to using the traffic light system?”</p>
<p>Sam’s confused face must have been answer enough, judging by the slight displeasure on the man's masked face. </p>
<p>“Our host failed to inform me of your safeword. What’s your safeword, Sam?” Another confused look prompts the man to put his fingers under Sam's chin and scrutinize his face and eyes with some concern. He even takes up his keys and uses a small flashlight on the keychain to check how Sam's pupils react. “You remember your safeword, don't you, Sam? What do you call out when it gets too much, and you need everything to stop right away?”</p>
<p>Sam says the first thing that comes to mind. “Dean.” It's the safest word in Sam's vocabulary. </p>
<p>“That's your safeword?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p>“Can you repeat it for me?”</p>
<p> “<i>Dean</i>.”</p>
<p>“Good boy.”</p>
<p>The man had proceeded to do very painful things to Sam, combined with soft touches, pleasant stimulation of sensitive spots. He massaged the limbs that started going numb while praising Sam's resilience and obedience. By then, Sam's slipped back into his neverland, distantly wondering about the ‘need everything to stop’ part. Someone should explain to the man that it doesn't work that way. Asking for a reprieve came with a punishment worse than whatever was causing the wish to pause. Either way, the black man goes into the category ‘nice’ even with the pain he causes.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Calm down, Nick!” Michael and Gabe bodily tear him from the guy he'd been fighting in the alley. The guy staggers to his feet, face a mess of tears and nosebleed, one eye swelling shut, then turns and limp-runs away. Fucker deserved what he got. Not that Nick remembers nor cares about <i>why</i> he deserves it.</p>
<p>“Let go of me!” Nick rips himself loose and glares at his brothers. </p>
<p>Michael holds his hands up placatingly. “That's enough, Nick. Let's go home.”</p>
<p>Nick wants to rage against the world. Wants to unleash the anger but can't because it's just them on the street now, and they’re not at fault. <i>He is</i>. Nothing new there. “<i>Fine</i>.” They're all doing a good job of pretending that Sam's absence has nothing to do with Nick’s foul mood. This is what he wanted anyway. For Sam to stay the fuck away. For both their sakes. </p>
<p>So it’s good that Sam didn’t show up or even text back.</p>
<p>Unless something happened to him, then Lord have mercy upon whoever hurt him!</p>
<p>
  <i>Fuck!</i>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sam can't tell time anymore. Those who came after the black man aren't nice at all, and everything is a blur. The blur is good. What isn't good are the thoughts of Nick that pull things into clarity. With clarity comes pain, half panic, and anxiety. </p>
<p>The redheaded woman and man currently playing with him are, by all appearances, a couple. There's <i>nothing</i> nice about them. Oh, they'd introduced themselves sweetly enough―Abby and Alistair―saying they'd take <i>such</i> good care of him. But they are frigging <i>hellspawn</i>. </p>
<p>One moment of HD clarity, and Sam can't take it. His whole body screams of pain. “No no no no, stop! Please! Stop stop stop!”</p>
<p>They laugh and mock him, then make it worse. He struggles against his bonds in panic, begging. He didn't think it could get worse than this, but it can. And it <i>does</i>. </p>
<p>“<i><b>DEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAN!!!!</b></i>”</p>
<p>He's barely aware of what happens in the commotion afterward. Someone comes running. The pain doesn't stop, but the cause does, and there's a quick argument in the room. Then he's untied, draped in a soft blanket, and carried into another room. He's put down on a bed, and somebody speaks reassuringly with him. He blinks blearily when the pain on his torso reaches bearable levels. A worried face swims into view - it's the big, black man. ”I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to―“</p>
<p>“Hey, no. It's okay, Sam. We're not in a scene anymore. You safeworded, remember? You can call me Uriel. How are you feeling?” Uriel doesn’t appear to be a warm person. He has an aura of strictness and competence. He’s not cold, though. The worry in his eyes is real.</p>
<p>“I'll take it from here, Uri,” Zachariah's voice interrupts from the door. </p>
<p>Uriel looks up with a concerned expression. “Are you sure switching is wise?”</p>
<p>“Quite. Sam knows me.”</p>
<p>Uriel bends his head level with Sam's and strokes him over the head. “Sam? Zachariah offers to take care of you. Are you okay with that?”</p>
<p><strike>No no no</strike>  “Yeah…” He has to be. </p>
<p>Zachariah comes to stand beside the bed with a concerned expression that lasts until Uriel has left the room, then he scowls angrily. “So. You think I pay you to safeword out of your job and embarrass me in front of my guests?”</p>
<p>“No, Sir. But Uriel commanded me to, if it got too much. I panicked. It hurt too much. I couldn’t take it. I'm sorry. I just need a moment. I'll be fit for fight again, I swear.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, you will. Lucky for you, I'll make sure of it.” Zachariah goes into the ensuite bathroom and comes back with a glass of water. “Sit up.”</p>
<p>Sam’s weak and shaky in the aftermath. His arms and legs are numb and feel like jelly. It’s a struggle to sit up. He wishes Uriel would have stayed. But Uriel isn’t his boss. He wishes he’d gone to the bar to see the Archangels play. But five grand is a lot of money and would mean he wouldn’t have to work for the rest of the summer, or only do a minimum of work.</p>
<p>“Here, take these.” Zachariah holds out his hand, holding four small pills.</p>
<p>“What are those?”</p>
<p>“Nevermind that. It’ll make the rest of your shift bearable since you’re so weak and pathetic.”</p>
<p>“Are those drugs? I don’t do drugs, Sir. It’s no good for the brain.”</p>
<p>“You’ll do whatever I pay you to do. You’re a <i>whore</i>. You accepted my money. Now you’re damned well going to fulfill your part of the deal. You think you’ve got choices?” Zachariah snorts. “People like you don’t <i>have</i> choices. You have one purpose and one purpose only. Don’t worry about your brain. Nobody’s interested in your brain anyway, boy.” </p>
<p>It hits too close to what he knows is the truth, but wishes wasn’t. Still, he averts his face. <i>He’s</i> fond of his brain even if nobody else is. “I don’t need those to continue. Just give me a moment.”</p>
<p>Zachariah huffs impatiently, puts down the glass on the nightstand, then grabs Sam’s jaw, forcing his mouth open. Sam tries to fight it, but his limbs won’t cooperate, and the pills are forced into his mouth too easily. Zachariah covers Sam’s mouth and pinches his nose shut. “I’ll let you breathe again as soon as you swallow. There. Good whore. This is a kindness. You’ll be thanking me. I’m a man of honor. You’ve accepted the money, and I won’t demand any of your payment back. And now I’m doing you a favor. That’s how good I am. A whore like you can’t be expected to know what’s best for you. Hmm? That’s a good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard?” Zachariah’s smile is oily and fake as he lets go after Sam’s swallowed the pills. Sam’s given water to chase them down. This time he doesn’t protest. It’s been too long since he drank anyway.</p>
<p>He wishes someone was here to protect him. He knows he owes Zachariah to finish his job, but he also knows that there’s no way in hell he’d agreed to do it if he’d known that drugs would be involved. He’s in a state of dazed shock that someone would actually <i>force him</i> to take drugs. It’s mind-boggling, terrifying. Both dad and Dean had warned him off from drugs. (Not to mention everything he’s read that depicted the vileness and repercussions of doing drugs.)</p>
<p>He wonders who he knows that would have come to his defense.</p>
<p>Brady, without a doubt. Even now, he believes Brady would stand up for him. </p>
<p>With that comes the thought that Nick would probably laugh at him and scorn him even more. It’s like a stab in his chest.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Michael watches him pace from the couch where Mike face-planted tiredly earlier. “You’re obsessing again.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he had a date with someone who actually has the brains to show him the appreciation he deserves?”</p>
<p>Now <i>that’s</i> a thought. Goes to show how self-centered he is and why Sam <i>should</i> stay away from him. It never even occurred to him that Sam might ditch him because he’d met someone more interesting. “No. Something bad has happened. I can feel it in my gut.”</p>
<p>“He’s a big boy, Nicky bug.”</p>
<p>The very old and rarely used affectionate but exasperating nickname makes Nick stop and turn towards Michael, running his hand through his hair. “In. My. Gut, Mikey.”</p>
<p>“Nothing we can do. Go to bed.”</p>
<p>“It’s not like I’m going to be able to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Then don’t. But go to bed so we can sleep.”</p>
<p>“We?” Nick says and arches an eyebrow, casting a pointed look at Gabe, already snoring loudly in one of Nick’s armchairs. Michael groans. “Alright, I’ll go to bed if you admit that you’re at least a bit worried too,” Nick resigns.</p>
<p>“Yes. But it doesn’t change that we can’t do shit. We don’t even know where he lives.”</p>
<p>That needs to change. </p>
<p>Michael narrows his eyes at him as if he’s reading Nick’s mind, though he keeps his mouth shut. Not that he has to say anything. His expression says it all. ‘I know what you're thinking, but <i>don't.</i>’</p>
<p>“Yes, yes. You’re right. I'm going to bed. Good night.” It’s morning. </p>
<p>“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” </p>
<p>Nick has an impulse to bite Michael like he did when Mikey said that back in the days when they shared a room. It used to lead to a play scuffle that would last until Chuck grew tired of pretending that he didn’t hear them and came to stare at them defeatedly from the doorway until they crawled back to bed and listed excuses. ‘A huge bed bug bit me,’ Michael would say, showing off a prominent bite mark from Nick’s teeth. Chuck would sigh. ‘They’re a hassle, I know. But it’s a good bug, deep down. So if you have to fend it off, do it quietly.’ Michael would answer, ‘Yes, dad,’ and Nick would snigger. Then Chuck would cut the light and say, ‘Good night, Michael. Good night, Nicky bug,’ and leave. Back then, Nick had thought Chuck’s lax disciplinary repercussions and tired resignation instead of fury made him weak and stupid. Looking at the end results, he’d been wrong.</p>
<p>Nick wraps himself in the good memory like a comforting blanket and heads for bed.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sam might have to rethink his stance on drugs. He can barely remember the hours since he was forced to take them. He remembers flashes in no particular order. Abby and Alistair being offered to play with him again. Being allowed to sleep because the guests were sleeping - Zachariah wanting him to sleep with him in his bed. At that point, Zachariah had been <i>very</i> pleased with him, though he doesn’t remember why. </p>
<p>“<i>You’re quite amazing, Sam, when you remember your place. I'm of a mind to keep you. Have you ever considered a live-in job?”  “I can’t, Sir. I've promised my life to college.” Zachariah laughing, holding him closer, fond. “I'm sure I can make it worth it.” “100000 a month, all necessities taken care of, and at least four hours of free time a day.” Mocking laughter this time. “You think you're worth that much money? You're overestimating your value.” “It’s what buying me out of college would cost you. If you can’t afford it, well, that’s not my problem, Sir.” “You used to be much cheaper.” “Yes. But now I have very important people competing for my time.”</i> </p>
<p>He’d meant friends and musicians, but Zachariah had believed he meant clients. Apparently, it was entirely plausible for Zachariah that rich and powerful people would be vying for Sam’s services. The revelation felt like it should mean something to Sam, but it didn’t. He remembers Uriel’s concerned surprise at seeing him back in the game and convincing Uriel that he wanted it too much to stay away. He remembers being hand-fed some more by the ‘dog lover’ who had him doing tricks. Abby coming into Zachariah’s bedroom without her mask on, telling ‘Zack’ that Alastair was finally asleep. He’d been a first-hand witness to their affair without having to participate. He remembers getting more pills as the first dose started to wear off but being high enough still not to put up a fight.</p>
<p>All these things are hazy memories in a sea of dark numbness. But he remembers other things too, that in hindsight has him questioning <i>all</i> his memories since when it happened, he'd been convinced it was real, and now he's sure it wasn’t. He remembers dad being there, doing things to him. He remembers Dean screaming at one of the guests to stop or Dean would kill him. Brady worriedly pulling him out of bed and tugging him to the kitchen, telling him he’s dehydrated and needs to drink and eat. He remembers Nick’s slouching in a chair, silently watching him with a scowl. And he vividly remembers making love to Dean, overjoyed at finally getting to show Dean how deeply he was loved. It was good, really good. Only, Dean had morphed into one of the guests. Mostly he remembers Little Bird, watching him from the window sill, downy feathers falling off one by one, his naked back marred by scabs and scratches, outside behind him, there was a thunderstorm raging. </p>
<p>The next time Sam remembers entering the room where Little Bird had been, there wasn’t even a window in the room. </p>
<p>None of this had fazed him at the time. But now, when he’s sobering up, and everything hurts, it’s stressing him out that he's had hallucinations. Worse is that he can’t for his life remember where he lives. He remembers what the place looks like but not its name or address. He’s wandering the streets aimlessly, hoping to recognize something to jog his memory. Instead, he’s ended up in a posh neighborhood he doesn’t remember <i>at all</i>.</p>
<p>A car pulls up beside him. He’s in half of a mind not to stop. He knows what it means when a car pulls up alongside him. He’s anxious, stressed, aching, hungry, and confused - not really in shape for playing that game. But he’s lost, and maybe whoever it is can help? Sam stops when the car horn honks to get his attention. He turns and leans into the rolled down window with an eyebrow arched in question. He doesn’t instantly recognize the black man inside. Nothing new about that. He often had trouble placing people he’d been with unless they stood out somehow.</p>
<p>“Sam? What are you doing here? You scened for a very long time. Shouldn’t you be with Zack to get your aftercare?”</p>
<p>Uriel, but without a mask. He’s relieved to be able to place him. Especially as Uriel goes into the ‘nice’ category. “Aftercare, Sir?”</p>
<p>“Zachariah doesn’t provide you with aftercare along with Tasha and Leon? He guaranteed me he would.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs and shakes his head. It’s funny. It’s funny that Uriel would think he deserves to be cared for after he’s fulfilled his purpose. “No, Sir. Zachariah doesn’t provide care of any needs that aren’t his own.”</p>
<p>Uriel’s face hardens for a beat. “Get in.”</p>
<p>Sam opens the door and gets in very carefully, grimacing at how painfully his clothes chafe at his raw and tortured skin. Drugs are handy; he’ll give every user that. They’d dulled so much out. He’s sure they’re still doing their job, just not at maximum strength. </p>
<p>“There are snacks in the glove compartment. Help yourself to all of it if you want. Is there something particular you like to eat?”</p>
<p>Sam opens the glove compartment and finds a small bag of chips, a coke, and a chocolate bar. He grabs it all and digs in on the chips first. “I dunno,” he answers with his mouth full, then swallows and thinks for a beat as a memory floats up to the surface. “Different blue cheeses, crackers, fig marmalade, grapes, pears… I liked that. Haven’t tried all that many different food-stuffs. I prefer salads over pizza? I dunno.” He opens the coke and downs half of it, then remembers his manners. “Sir.”</p>
<p>“Okay. We’ll work with that.” Uriel drives off, but Sam’s too starved and too fuzzy-brained to ask where they’re going. “So, Sam, I haven’t seen you at the club?” Uriel probes.</p>
<p>“What club?”</p>
<p>“Tonix.”</p>
<p>“Never been there, Sir. I don’t really go out much.”</p>
<p>“So how did you start to sub for Zachariah?”</p>
<p>“Sub? Usually, he wants to be a daddy. I guess I’m getting too old for him to want to play those games.”</p>
<p>“And that’s what you prefer?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what I prefer. I’m not exactly the one doing the choosing. As long as it pays the bills and keeps me from starving or having to sleep rough until college starts and I get a dorm room again, I’ll do what’s wanted from me. And hopefully, this paycheck will last me all summer.”</p>
<p>“He pays you?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.” Sam drifts a bit as the chips in the bag seem to move and slither for a bit. When they stop moving, he continues eating. </p>
<p>He hasn’t realized the car has pulled over until Uriel speaks. “Sam, look at me.”</p>
<p>Sam halts his chewing and turns his head to obediently look at Uriel. Uriel leans in close and stares into his eyes, then uses his keychain flashlight to shine in Sam’s eyes like he had eons ago when he played with Sam.</p>
<p>“Do you use the money to finance your drugs?”</p>
<p>“I don’t do drugs, Sir.”</p>
<p>“Don’t lie to me. I can see that you’re under the influence.”</p>
<p>Sam snorts in humorless amusement. “Yeah, but not by choice. Zachariah forced pills into my mouth after I safeworded to ensure I wouldn’t embarrass him further in front of his guests. I would never have taken them otherwise. Drugs aren’t good for the brain, especially not for someone like me, who is still developing. Bruises heal, but I need my brain to get through college.”</p>
<p>Uriel looks furious, and Sam bows his head and draws in on himself. “I’m sorry, Sir. It wasn’t my intention to anger you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not angry at you, Sam. I’m angry about your rights being violated.”</p>
<p>“I have no rights.”</p>
<p>Uriel takes a deep breath, and even without looking, Sam can feel Uriel forcibly relax. “You do. And I’d like to know if there were any other things you said no to, that Zack overrode.”</p>
<p>“Condoms. He said it wasn’t necessary because all the guests had a documented clean bill of health.”</p>
<p>“Do you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know?”</p>
<p>“Look at me.”</p>
<p>Sam looks up. Uriel’s face is composed. “Sam. I’m going to take you to the hospital to be tested for STDs. Every other guest at Zachariah’s house, the other two subs included, are members of Tonix and have to get tested monthly or get their membership suspended. The risk that you might have caught something from us is minimal, but the same can’t be said for us.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“After that, I’d like to take you to my home and keep you there until the drugs have left your system. During that time, I’d like to give you the aftercare Zachariah assured me you were getting. I want you to be completely honest with me during that time. If anything makes you feel uncomfortable, or if I ask to do something you don’t want, say no, and I’ll respect that. The only thing I’ll force you to do is getting tested for STDs. Everything that happens after that is purely for your health and safety, and I will not stop you from leaving.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay, to all of this?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to call me Sir. We’re not in a scene right now. Uriel or Uri is fine.”</p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p>Uriel starts the car again, and Sam goes back to eating.</p>
<p>“So what kind of club is Tonix?”</p>
<p>“It’s a closed BDSM club, only open for members. The screening is rigorous, and the rules firm. Sometimes a member hosts an invite-only event like Zachariah did, and then the same rules apply. Dom or sub, only those who like the kind of events that are hosted show up. Tasha and Leon love to cater to many masters at once and enjoy long sessions that span over days. I assumed you were there because of the same reason.”</p>
<p>“But you hadn’t seen me at the club?”</p>
<p>“No, but I don’t know every member personally. And you’re young, only nineteen, I was told. You might have been a new member. I assumed you were.”</p>
<p>Sam finishes the chips and dives in on the chocolate. “Nu-uh. Apparently, I was primarily brought in, so Alastair and Abby wouldn’t have to hold back as much as they usually do. Zachariah explained that to me, but not until after I…” he falls quiet, biting off a big chunk of chocolate.</p>
<p>Uriel squeezes the steering wheel but otherwise remains outwardly calm. “I’m a sadist and a Dom. I enjoy causing pain to a certain degree. But most importantly, I enjoy causing pain to those who enjoy it and take pleasure out of it. If the sub doesn’t enjoy it, or worse, has no power to stop it, it turns into abuse, plain and simple. The sub should always be the one with the ultimate power. No exceptions. What Zachariah did to you is unforgivable, and breaks the law as well as every rule of BDSM.”</p>
<p>“I’m a prostitute. The law doesn’t protect me.”</p>
<p>“In theory, it does. Sadly, not only does your profession negate the court’s willingness to help, but the many misconceptions about BDSM also serve to put you at a disadvantage. If you’d try to take Zachariah to court, you’d lose.” Uriel doesn’t sound happy about that.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Uriel takes excellent care of him. After the hospital visit, he stops to buy blue cheese, fruit, and other foods and non-alcoholic drinks. He takes Sam home―a grand house with a cozy inside―and draws him a bath. He helps Sam wash with a soft sponge after Sam asks for help, then massages Sam’s whole body with pain-relieving gel (non-sexually). He supplies soft, airy clothes that are too big but don’t punish Sam’s skin the same way his own clothes do. Gives him food and drink. Makes him a big cup of tea and drapes him in a blanket. He offers Sam free reign to his bookcases, where Sam finds a book full of funny stories. Uriel even takes a sick day, letting Sam stay in a guestroom at night. Sam’s provided with a hearty breakfast. They talk about BDSM, and Uriel explains the ins and outs, offering to teach Sam if he’s interested in trying it out in the future. </p>
<p>Sam, somewhat back to his normal self, instantly offers to scene with Uriel as a thank you for the kind treatment. Uriel declines. He says that as well as Sam performed at Zachariah’s event - he doesn’t want to scene with Sam due to Sam feeling gratitude about being treated like a person. If Sam truly felt that BDSM might be something he’d enjoy - in any form, shape, or capacity - he’d have to wait a month at least to let everything sink in before contacting Uriel. Then they’d talk over what Sam would like to try or what he is curious about. If it didn’t match up with Uriel’s preferences, Uriel would help connect him with a matching counterpart. The most crucial part is that every participant enjoys the experience they have. He also lets slip that Aaron, the man who’d asked him to pretend to be a dog, had adored him, if those particular games were to his liking. But he also stresses that there would be no money changing hands if Sam wanted to do this.</p>
<p>Uriel gives him another massage with pain-relieving gel, and then lunch. He offers to drive Sam home (the memory thankfully returned with sobriety) but wants to have a talk first. “Sam. What was done to you was horribly wrong and shouldn’t ever be allowed to happen. I’m appalled at your story, and worse, to have been part of the crimes committed against you.”</p>
<p>“But you didn’t do anything to me. You were nice all the way.”</p>
<p>Uriel shakes his head. “You were under coercion. I didn’t know that, and I trusted Zack to act honorably. That was a mistake. Everything that was done to you, especially after you were drugged, is abuse, sexual molestation, and rape.”</p>
<p>“No. No no. I wasn’t raped. I didn’t say no. Apart from taking the pills, I didn’t say no once.” </p>
<p>“Sam―”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t <i>raped</i>!” Sam shakes his head vigorously in denial. Rape is when someone corners you in an alley and threatens you or hurts you, and you fight it and scream no, and they fuck you anyway. That didn’t happen. That’s never happened to Sam. Sam can’t explain why the claim of being raped fills him with such a panicked dread. All he knows is that he’s suddenly so upset and anxious he wants to run away from here as fast as he can.</p>
<p>Uriel takes a steadying breath and holds his hands up placatingly. “Okay. You weren’t,” he says in a tone of voice that says ‘agree to disagree’. “But can we agree that drugging you was wrong and that you weren’t treated according to the basic rules of BDSM?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir,” Sam agrees and tampers down his panic.</p>
<p>“Good. The law is flawed, Sam. If a sex worker reports being assaulted or raped while working, they will be prosecuted for prostitution alongside the person who committed the crime against him or her. This is the kind of dilemma we have here. I want to punish Zachariah for what he did and see to that he won’t be able to repeat his crimes. But should I go after him specifically for what he did to you, I would have to incriminate both myself and you. A truthful testimony from either of us would end with us getting punished and Zachariah getting away. And should I lose my job I won’t be able to do any good at all. I chose my career because I wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves and―” Uriel halts. “You <i>do</i> know who I am, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. “No, Sir. Are you famous? I’m sorry. I’m not great with faces…”</p>
<p>“I’m the Chief of Police.”</p>
<p>“Oh, shit.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry. I won’t nail you for prostitution. I would like to ask of you to let the crime against you slide, and trust me to get Zachariah Adler on his next slip-up. That way, none of us stands to risk repercussions.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay.”</p>
<p>“I would like for you to tell me everything you know about him that may help me stop him from doing anything like this in the future. Starting from your first meeting…”</p>
<p>Sam tells him. He only talks about Zachariah, nobody else, and he lies about his age, holding on to being nineteen when Uriel wants confirmation. It goes against his upbringing to tell on anyone, but he'd been drugged, and he can’t forgive that. (Even if it had helped him cope with what happened next.) He gives Uriel his phone number so Uriel can get in touch with him when the test results come back.</p>
<p>Uriel drives him home and provides him with a list of shelters, cheap motels, and employers that often have temporary jobs that don’t require education. Market research, phone sales, moving firms, and so on. It’s possible that Uriel only helps him to keep him from ratting Uriel out or to protect the BDSM community he’s part of. But it doesn’t feel like that’s the reason. Uriel doesn’t have a warm and affectionate personality. Altruism, however, doesn’t have to mean soft and fluffy.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Very touching.</tt>
</p>
<p>“He’s alive!”</p>
<p>Michael leans to look over Nick’s shoulder. “So much sarcasm in two words. I believe you’re having your first fight as a couple,” he jibes.</p>
<p>“Fuck off. He’s alive and he texted me after listening to my messages. That’s what’s important,” Nick mutters and shoves Michael away to reply to the text. Michael comes right back to hang over his shoulder, overseeing the texting, ready to tease like the asshole he is.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Nick:</b> Why didn’t you come to our gig? Are you alright? You could have texted us earlier! We were worried. It’s NOT okay to go AWOL like that.</tt>
</p>
<p>“Don’t sen― What the hell, Nicky? Needy much? <i>Think</i> before you hit send. We don’t want another Tina incident,” Michael scolds. “Lucky you didn’t threaten him with a beating. You barely speak to him, and now you’re acting fifty shades of gray.”</p>
<p>Nick makes an annoyed sound because it’s true. This is part of his struggle - not to become like ‘<i>them</i>’. To be the man he <i>wants</i> to be, not the defensive, possessive asshole he’s been conditioned to be. Without his family to hold up mirrors, he’d be lost. He slips up too easily when feelings get a hold of him. </p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> I’m fine.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Nick:</b> Where were you?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Out of it.</tt>
</p>
<p>“Is he always this short while texting?”</p>
<p>“Nope. He’s more of an essay writer if he doesn’t call. He’s giving you the piss you deserve.”</p>
<p>“Figures.”</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Nick:</b> Where are you now?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> At home.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Nick:</b> Could you be more specific?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Yes.</tt>
</p>
<p>Michael laughs. “The guy isn’t taking your shit. I can actually hear his flat tone in my head. You know, you could try apologizing?”</p>
<p>“I will. In person.”</p>
<p>Michael chuckles, shakes his head, and sits back in his own chair. “You’re blocking your own shots.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Listening to the phone messages had messed Sam up. The first one from Nick had made him feel cold all over and made his eyes sting, then the next one came straight after, warming him up and causing butterflies. Then he’d gotten pissed off at Nick for being such a dick. Couldn’t he pick a side? Either total rejection, or friendly instead of playing as if Sam was the only one in the audience on stage and then be a dick offstage. He can’t even rejoice at finally getting a phone number.</p>
<p>There’s another incoming text, from Michael this time. </p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Michael:</b> When Nick says “we”, he means “I”. He’s under the misconception that the world revolves around him. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have been happy to see you there, but unlike Nick, I realize that people have lives outside of me.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> I’ve been sick. I would have wanted to come, believe me. I just couldn’t. But I’m fine now.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Michael:</b> Happens to all of us. Hey, so, want to have lunch with me tomorrow?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> I can’t.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Michael:</b> Hey, it’s cool. I get it. Don’t want to be a bother. Just thought it would be nice, that’s all. Some other time perhaps.</tt>
</p>
<p>Michael and Nick couldn’t be more different if they tried. </p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Not like that. I’m out of a job, and money’s tight. I’d love to, but I’d rather save my money so I can afford to see you play on Wednesday. :) Maybe we can do something else that doesn’t cost me anything? Or maybe you can buy takeaway, and we can sit outside somewhere, and I’ll eat before we meet up?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Michael:</b> Money’s the problem? Why didn’t you say so! I’ll buy. Don’t worry about it. Meet me at Rochester Rd. 46 at 11:30. If you want to, that is. Don’t feel obligated or anything.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> I’d love to! See you there. :D</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam’s more grateful than Michael can understand. He’s never felt so alone in his life. Not even writing felt relaxing. Something about the story started to echo unpleasantly of feelings that felt too close to home.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <tt>...picked and scratched at Little Bird. Some didn’t even try to take his few fluffy feathers, only wanting to hurt him. There were so many of them. The secretary bird held him down with an evil leer. Little Bird screamed in pain and fear. Not until the pack of animals got bored did the secretary bird let Little Bird go.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird ran until he stumbled, then lay crying, alone, lost, and afraid.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“Why are you crying, Little Bird?” a voice asked.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird looked up to find a giant toad looking at him in confusion. “Because they ripped out my feathers and hurt me,” he sniffled.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“Didn’t you want them to?” the toad asked, utterly baffled at how someone wouldn’t want to be hurt and stripped of his feathers.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“No. I need my feathers, or I’ll freeze to death. And I don’t want to be in pain.”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“Remarkably strange,” said the toad. Then he rubbed his head to make the warts on top of it secrete an oily substance. He used the oil to rub Little Bird’s tortured back. “This is mildly poisonous, but will help you heal and take away the pain.”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>It lessened the pain and felt good. Little Bird relaxed. “Why would anybody want to get their down or fur picked?” he asked the toad, because the toad seemed knowledgeable about these things.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“Because they get too hot, and can’t shed their coats themselves. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” The toad hopped away. When he came back, he was holding all the downy feathers the pack of animals had stolen. “These are yours, correct?”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“Yes they are.”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>“I will give them back to you if you wish, but I can’t reattach them. Although, if you let me keep them, I will use them to make a trap for the secretary bird who caught you. When he walks into the trap, I can weave lots of coats from his feathers. I can’t give you any of those coats, but I can give them to many other little birds that have gotten all their downy feathers stolen. It’s your choice. Get your feathers back or set a trap?”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird chose the trap. He couldn’t bear the thought of other little birds having to go through what he had.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>In the distance, the dirty white wolf was watching Little Bird with hungry eyes and red tongue lolling…</tt>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I strongly need to point out that Sam is wrong when he thinks that it's only rape if you say no and physically fight it. It's rape if you can't say no (if you're asleep, or in any way too out of it to understand what's happening). And it's rape if you "let it happen" because you fear the repercussions if you protest. If there's a threat of violence, losing your job, becoming homeless, you're blackmailed into it, you're dependent on them to see to your basic needs, or something like that. </p>
<p>If Sam would accept Uriel's claim that he'd been raped, he'd have to accept and understand that he's been raped before and that what his dad did to him falls in the category "rape" even though he never said no to dad. Sam isn't there yet. Deep inside, he does understand, which is why it stresses him out so much to have it spoken out loud. He isn't ready to accept that he's a victim of a horrifying crime. Despite that, this is a step in the right direction.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mike takes Sam for lunch, and Sam finds out more about the archangels. Sam realizes that in Michael, he might have found a friend to replace Brady.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The song in this chapter: <a href="https://youtu.be/tuunqfdz388">Piece by Piece</a> by Kelly Clarkson.<br/>Don't know if I need any other warnings?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>Meeting Michael on a workday is different. He’s all dressed up in a well-fitting suit with a dark blue tie. His hair is neatly combed, and he’s topped it all up with a thin-framed pair of glasses. Sam lets out a startled laugh when he sees him. “Wow. You look totally different.”<p>Michael bends his neck with a smile, cheeks tinting pink. “Yes, um. I’m required to dress this way for work, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>“You look like Clark Kent. I didn’t know you need glasses?”</p>
<p>Michael looks up again. “Oh, um.” He hastily takes the glasses off and puts them in his breast pocket. “Yes, no. I only need them when I look at a screen for too long. I get headaches otherwise. They make me look like a dork, I know, I know.”</p>
<p>“Not even close. They suit you. You pull off both this look, and looking like a rockstar.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Michael’s smile is shy and utterly baffling to Sam. Michael’s <i>told</i> him he’s usually reserved, but seeing it is another matter. He simply seems out of his depth at taking a compliment. “I didn’t pull you away from something important, did I?”</p>
<p>“No. Unless you count lying in bed wishing the summer was over so college would start again, as important,” Sam amends ruefully.</p>
<p>“You don’t like summer?”</p>
<p>“Sure, I do. But I’ve started feeling lonely, and there are too many hours to fill with nothing and no one. I don’t know. It’s a new feeling for me. I usually like being by myself. Now I can’t even relax enough to read.”</p>
<p>Michael sniggers. “Is your head too full of thoughts of a certain asshole, perhaps?”</p>
<p>It’s Sam’s turn to duck his head. “Was he really worried about me?”</p>
<p>“Yes. He was. You’ve seeped inside the cracks in his walls, and now you’ll have to live with the curse of his attention. I told you he likes you,” Michael says with teasing amusement and gestures at a restaurant across the street. </p>
<p>“He sure has a funny way of showing it,” Sam mutters as they start walking towards the restaurant. </p>
<p>“He's trying not to. Nick’s powered by heart alone, which is really hard for a guy pretending not to have one. It leads to a lot of drama that luckily mostly plays out while you're not around. I'm not going to tell you to go for it, or to forget about him. Either you work it out, or you don’t. But I will tell you that he likes you <i>a lot</i>. I know how it is to go around wondering if people just put up with you or find you annoying or needy. I don’t want you to wonder the same. Whether you find the drama worth it or not, is up to you.”</p>
<p>Sam watches the man beside him thoughtfully as Michael greets the waitress, and they're led to ‘the usual table’ in the back. (Michael obviously comes here often.) They sit down, both ordering today's special and soda. When the waitress leaves, Sam speaks. “I said I felt alone, right?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“I have many acquaintances I could call that I'm sure would welcome my company.” It’s true. People from school, people Brady had introduced him to, people he'd met at the bar. But so very few made an emotional impact on him. Not that there's anything wrong with any of them. It’s he who is the freak. “But you can be lonely with people around too.”</p>
<p>“Way too true,” Michael agrees.</p>
<p>“I only go where I’m invited, and in the choice between being alone with people or without them, I choose without them. What I wanted to say, in case there's any doubt, is, I like you—a lot. I would like you even if you didn't know Nick. And I'm glad you invited me to get to know you better. So you don’t have to worry about whether I find you annoying or needy or anything like that. I don’t.”</p>
<p>Michael searches his face for sincerity and finds it. He ducks his head and blushes again with a lopsided smile. “Thank you. Sentiment returned. So… who was the guy we saw you talking to last Wednesday?” He looks up curiously, changing the subject.</p>
<p>“Brady. He’s my best friend. Or former best friend, I guess. We don’t talk much these days.”</p>
<p>“Really? He seemed more like an ex. With the hateful glares he sent Nick, and with the awkwardness he introduced his date to you, I mean.”</p>
<p>Sam feels put on the spot. His initial reaction is to be completely truthful, but Brady isn’t out and doesn't want to be. He desperately searches for a lie that will fit the narrative. His answer is too clumsy. He hears it the moment the words are out of his mouth. “He’s straight.”</p>
<p>Michael sniggers. “Ah. You mean ‘straight’ like Nick’s straight?” he asks knowingly, doing air quotes around ‘straight’. “Is that why you don’t talk much anymore?”</p>
<p>“Michael. You can’t― He doesn’t want― I don’t have a right to give away other people’s secrets.”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t out him to anyone else. But it must be tough for you, who’s openly out, not to be able to talk fully about your experiences and feelings. Do you have anyone to vent to?”</p>
<p>“You?” Sam answers sheepishly. </p>
<p>“Ouch.”</p>
<p>“So, Nick’s not straight?” Sam wants to be confirmed. </p>
<p>“Do you interpret him as such?”</p>
<p>“No. Not, not while he’s on stage, at least.”</p>
<p>“In that case, he’s <i>always</i> on stage. His interest in you isn’t merely platonic. And that bullshit he pulled on you last Wednesday was a direct consequence of his jealousy towards that Brady guy. May I ask why it ended?”</p>
<p>“Um. I guess. I didn’t know we were boyfriends? I thought we were just best friends with benefits. So I had sex with other people. If he'd have told me we were a couple, I wouldn’t have. But he didn't. Not until he broke up with me. Apparently, that was something I was supposed to get all by myself. He broke up, told me he wanted distance to get over me in an effort to save our friendship. I miss him like crazy and hope I'll get my best friend back. Don’t have many people I feel I can talk to. Look, I love him very much. He was right, though, when he claimed I wasn't <i>in</i> love with him. I'm still learning the difference.” Both of them nod thanks to the waitress bringing their food.</p>
<p>“It isn’t easy to know when a relationship shifts from one thing to another. I think it's highly unfair to take things for granted and punish the other person for not catching on. I, for one, rarely get when things turn serious. Mostly it’s the other way around for me, though. It starts out as casual; I start feeling like we have something, that we can actually make something out of it, if you get what I mean? But that’s when she starts making sketchy excuses, stops returning my texts, or gives me the ‘this isn’t working speech’. I don’t know what I do wrong. I think I might come on too strong like some pushy fuckboy. Nick and Gabe tell me it’s because the women realize what a dull music nerd I really am. Not that it matters all that much. I don’t fall in love often, and when I do, it’s always in someone completely unattainable.” Michael shrugs and starts eating.</p>
<p>“Unattainable, how?” Sam asks and follows suit.</p>
<p>“Like my last big love. She was a colleague of mine. Worked in tech. The most vibrant, positive, outgoing, kind, and wonderful woman you’ll ever meet. Got along with my whole family too, which came as a surprise. She moved last year to work at Google HQ. I was head over heels for her for years. Heh. She made me braver than I am. Even dragged me along to a LARP once because I was physically unable to say no to anything she wanted from me. Do you know what larping is?”</p>
<p>Sam nods. He’s read about it.</p>
<p>Michael takes another bite, chews, and goes on. “Nick and Gabe came along for moral support, or I might not have been able to pull it off.” Michael grins and shakes his head at the memory. “I’ll tell you, it’s never a good idea to bring Gabe along to something and tell him he can be anything he wants to be. Naturally, he was a god of mischief. But it was fun. She moved shortly after that.”</p>
<p>“Did she have a boyfriend? Since you said she was unattainable?”</p>
<p>“Nope. As lesbian as they come.”</p>
<p>Ouch. “Did she know you were in love with her?”</p>
<p>“God, no. I wouldn’t have been able to cope with that. It’s quite pathetic, actually. She’d breeze into the office talking about some book or TV series, and I’d read or watch it just to be able to have a conversation with her about it sometime. If you come to my home, you’ll see how pathetic I am. Every sci-fi and fantasy book in my home comes from my desperate attempts to get a moment of attention from a woman I knew would never be interested in me.”</p>
<p>“What’s so pathetic about wanting to please someone you like?”</p>
<p>“Ignoring the fact that she’s a lesbian? Well, you know what they say. You’re supposed to be yourself, or a relationship won’t work in the long run.”</p>
<p>Now they’re treading grounds where Sam doesn’t understand things like he’s supposed to. “What if you don’t know who you are? Or what if pleasing others is part of your personality? Or if you’re open to being passionate about other people’s passions because there are so many things that are worth being passionate about in life?”</p>
<p>Chewing, Michael points to him as if he’s made a point.</p>
<p>“Did you know,” Sam says, “that when in-love people are shown pictures of their loved ones, it fires up the same regions of the brain that activate when a drug addict takes a hit, according to research…” Sam gives a little speech about the chemistry behind being in love. He’d thought it vastly interesting when he’d read it.</p>
<p>They flit from topic to topic with comfortable ease, and Michael’s lunch hour flies by too damned fast.</p>
<p>“I need to get back to work now. Are you doing anything tonight? Or is it too much to invite you over to my place so soon?”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “No, it’s not. Just tell me when and where. I’ll be there.”</p><hr/>
<p>Sam’s inexorably happy when he leaves. Not only has Michael confirmed that Nick likes him, but it also feels like this is the start of a new friendship. A real one, like he had with Brady. Michael's just so easy to talk to.</p>
<p>The excellent mood lasts until he's back at the motel and his phone rings. It’s Kelvin. “Hey, Sam. I've missed you.”</p>
<p>He feels guilty. He’s willfully broken his promise to the professor and topped it off by falling for someone else. “I've missed you too.”</p>
<p>“I'm in town tonight, and I want you to meet me at the pier at 5:30.”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry, Kelvin, but I can't. I've got plans already.”</p>
<p>“So cancel them. I've had to go through a lot of trouble to see you tonight.”</p>
<p>“I'm really sorry, but I can't.” He could. Just send a text to Michael and ask for a raincheck. He cringes inwardly at the dilemma. But Brady consistently asked, ‘what do you want’, and Michael is just as ardent in his assurance that Sam has a choice. And Sam <i>wants</i> to see Michael. So he does what he’s never really done before. He digs his heels in. “If you want to see me, you have to give me at least one day’s heads up. I have a life. The people I’ve made plans with, have lives. You’re supposed to be gone for four weeks, and I’m not even allowed to contact you, and then you expect me to drop everything on one moment’s notice, right out of the blue?” Which is what he’d been doing since their thing started. “I’m sorry, Kelvin. I really can’t this time.”</p>
<p>“Sam. You know I have a family. It isn’t easy to make things work. My wife takes a vacation so that my daughter can have a full family experience with the both of us. I’ve missed you like crazy, but my daughter comes first. You know that, boo,” Kelvin reasons.</p>
<p>Sam suddenly feels annoyed. Angry, like he was when listening to Nick’s two phone messages. He’s tired of having his chain yanked. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have affairs with your students, to begin with,” he snaps irritably. Panic flaring the next second because of the sheer insubordination.</p>
<p>It sparks an argument. Sam even wobbles a bit on his standpoint, but then he thinks of Michael admitting to fear people’s sincerity when they say they like him. This argument isn’t just about him and Kelvin. If it was, Sam would have folded. But Michael is part of this too, and Sam refuses to start a friendship so arrogantly by canceling. What message would that send to Michael about his importance? Nu-uh.</p>
<p>Kelvin suddenly folds. “Alright, alright, man. You’re right. I’m sorry. I apologize. I’m being selfish and desperate. I’ve missed you so much. Not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you and longed for the next time I get to be with you. I just… I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Like that, the guilty feelings are back tenfold. “I’m sorry too. Next time, give me some heads up?”</p>
<p>“I will. Can we talk for a bit? I’ve missed your voice.”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>“So how you’ve been? Anything exciting happened?”</p>
<p>“Um. Not really. If you don’t count growing out of my clothes faster than I can buy new ones exciting,” Sam jokes.</p>
<p>Kelvin chuckles. “So, what are your plans for the evening?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been invited to a friend’s place. Met him two weeks ago. He’s really nice.”</p>
<p>“By friend, you mean…?”</p>
<p>“By friend, I mean a friend. I told you about Brady. I haven’t had a real friend since he left. I miss having someone to talk to.”</p>
<p>“We’re friends.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but you’re out of reach most of the time.”</p>
<p>“I know. I’m sorry about that. You going home to see your family this summer?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m staying right here.” He doesn’t even know where they live. He misses Dean and dad.</p>
<p>“So where do you live? Found yourself an apartment?”</p>
<p>Sam sighs. “No. I live in a motel. It’s not ideal, but at least there’s a laundromat down the street.”</p>
<p>“Motel? Isn’t that expensive?”</p>
<p>Sam makes a noncommittal sound. “There are probably cheaper ones. But it’s clean, vermin free, and somewhat central. Blue Lotus? You heard of it?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“It’s not too bad, and if I handle my finances correctly, I will be able to afford it for the rest of the summer even if I don’t manage to find a job soon.”</p>
<p>They talk for about 30 minutes before Sam has to hang up. Something about the talk they had leaves Sam uneasy, but he can’t put his finger on why. He blames it on his guilty conscience.</p><hr/>
<p>Somebody snaps their fingers in front of Sam’s face. Sam jerks in startlement, and Michael laughs. “Earth to Sam, come in, Sam.”</p>
<p>“Sorry. I spaced out for a beat.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I noticed. Have you waited for long?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that’s my own fault. I’ve never been to this part of the city before, and I decided to walk here. I got here faster than anticipated.”</p>
<p>“Let’s get you out of the sun then. You’re working up a burn. I’ve got some aloe vera lotion upstairs,” Michael tells him with a smile and motions for him to follow. Sam pushes himself away from the wall he’d been leaning on, follows Michael into the apartment building and up two flights of stairs. “It’s not fancy, but it’s home. I’m putting my money in other places than my living quarters,” Michael excuses. “All of us keep about the same budget for housing, so it’s kind of interesting if you see the difference. Gabe lives in a tiny studio apartment in the city center. Nick has a big house in the outskirts. It was all but falling apart when he bought it, but it was cheap. And this is me.” He unlocks the door and steps aside with an inviting gesture. The hallway is small but opens up to a spacious living room. “One bedroom, and the kitchen isn’t big, but it has a balcony, and the water pressure is great.”</p>
<p>Sam’s about to crack a joke about Michael sounding like a realtor but throws a glance at Michael and stops himself since the guy looks nervous, which Sam surmises is the reason he’s babbling. So he bites his tongue and steps into the living room. “Wooooah! Holy shit!”</p>
<p>Holy shit, indeed. Sure, there’s a couch and a TV as expected, but every wall is lined with bookcases full of CDs, vinyls, or other music-related items. There are so. Many. CDs. Sam’s eyes skip over the sound system, the old record player for the vinyls, with a tape deck (that makes him think of Dean) and lands on the piano. There are guitars on stands and a keyboard too, but the piano is what draws his eyes.</p>
<p>“You like it?”</p>
<p>“To quote my brother, this is ‘<i>awesome</i>’!  Can I…?” he points at the piano.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Sure. You can touch anything you like. Go ahead. You want a beer? Or something else? I’ve got Kool-Aid, or coffee, or―”</p>
<p>“A beer would be great, thank you,” Sam answers distractedly and walks up to the piano. It’s an ordinary, upright piano, but to Sam, it’s as exotic as a grand piano would have been, and just as black and glossy. He flips the lid open and runs his fingers over the keys lightly enough not to cause any sound. </p>
<p>“Do you play?” Michael asks when he comes back into the room with their beers.</p>
<p>“No. I’ve never tried playing anything except harmonica. But that was when I was a kid, so it wasn’t as much playing as making as much noise as I possibly could.”</p>
<p>“That’s how we all started. Sit down. Try it out.” Michael puts the beer on a small table beside the piano that looks like it’s frequently used for that purpose. “I’m just going to go change out of my workwear. Be back in a bit.”</p>
<p>“Alright.” Sam takes a sip of beer and sits down. He plinks randomly on the keys, feeling like a little kid. He gets more confident after trying all the keys out, hearing what sound they make, and tries to play ‘Are you sleeping, Brother John?’, being somewhat successful.</p>
<p>“Look at you go. I leave you alone for two minutes, and you’re already making music,” Michael exclaims, grinning when he comes back dressed in jeans and tee.</p>
<p>Sam pulls his hand back embarrassedly. “I wouldn’t call that music.”</p>
<p>“Of course, it’s music. Like I said. That’s how we all start. First, by making noise, then we start wanting to arrange the noises. It’s kind of like words. First, you find out what each word means, then you make sentences. You want to play something together?” Michael’s completely at ease now, being on his home turf and having gotten his home approved.</p>
<p>“I can’t play.”</p>
<p>“I’ll show you.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Scoot over.” Sam moves to the side to make space for Michael on the padded bench. “Here. Put your fingers like this here, and like this here. Press those like this, one-two-three-four, and on every four, you hit these with that hand. Now you try. Yes, good! Like that. Just keep repeating it. Perfect.” Michael begins to play, fingers dancing over the keys with joyful ease while Sam plays the base.</p>
<p>It’s a fairly happy tune, and Sam can hear how his simple repetitive notes add to it and support Michael's playing. When they stop, he's grinning like a loon. “That sounded great! What did we play?”</p>
<p>“Oh, um. We were just jamming. Making it up as we went. Want to play something in particular?”</p>
<p>“Can you play something for me, instead?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely. What do you want to hear?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“So what kind of music do you like? Favorite songs?”</p>
<p>“I don’t really know. I haven’t, uh. I haven’t listened to a lot of music. I preferred silence when I read, and later on, got really good at tuning sounds out. Plus, I wanted to be able to hear if dad…” Suddenly queasy without understanding why Sam changes what he was about to say. “So headphones weren't an option. Anyway, I like the music you guys play? If that counts.”</p>
<p>Michael stares at him like he’s grown horns. “You don’t liste―! Don’t you <i>like</i> music?”</p>
<p>“Sure, I do. It’s just never felt, I dunno, personal? Until now. So get this, when I still lived at home, it was the same music always playing. Dad and Dean listened to the same 80s rock all the time, and woe those who suggested listening to something else. And, I guess, it just became background noise? I haven’t, um, I haven’t had that many friends, and those I’ve had weren’t into music like that, as far as I know. But, um… I’ve read a lot of music lyrics? If that counts? It’s basically poetry.” Sam falls quiet in the face of Michael’s astonished expression. “I’m sorry,” Sam adds, shamefaced, feeling bad about not having the same connection to music as Michael, not wanting to be a disappointment.</p>
<p>“You’re <i>sorry</i>? No, no, no. This is, this is fantastic. You’re telling me that you’re nineteen years old and more or less the equivalent of a virgin, music-wise?” Michael says with growing excitement in his eyes.</p>
<p>Sam’s lips pull up bemusedly in one corner. “I guess?”</p>
<p>“Which means I, <i>we</i>, my brothers included, have a fair shot at making you fall in love with music?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Sam’s smile grows. “I think you already have. It’s addicting, watching you guys play.”</p>
<p>Michael chuckles. “Yes, and that has nothing to do with you and Nick having a steaming romance while he’s on stage, I’m sure,” he states dryly and arches an eyebrow pointedly in amusement. Sam bites his lip over a smile and bends his neck. Michael sniggers. “Not that it matters. You said you <i>read</i> lyrics?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. Yeah. Like poetry.”</p>
<p>“Can you recite any on the top of your head? That you don’t know the melody for?”</p>
<p>“And we could make the monster live again<br/>
Oh, hands move and heart beat on<br/>
Now life will return in this electric storm<br/>
A prophecy for a fantasy<br/>
The curse of a vivid mind,” Sam recites solemnly while Michael listens intently with a frown, the tip of his tongue sticking out in focus. His face smooths out in excitement.</p>
<p>“Oh, I know this one! T’Pau.” Michael starts playing, and then he sings what comes next. “<i>Don't push too far, Your Dreams are china in your hand, Don't wish too hard, Because they may come true, And you can't help them, You don't know what you might, Have set upon yourself…</i>” His voice is clear and strong and without any self-consciousness, and it gives Sam chills.</p>
<p>“Holy shit!” Sam laughs in delight when Michael has let the last note of the whole song die out.</p>
<p>Michael’s grin reflects Sam’s delight. “Another?”</p>
<p>They do a couple of more songs, and Michael nails every one with growing elation at the game. Because it is a game. Like musical trivia. Michael can’t play all of them, but he can sing them or part of them. “You should come with me to Nick’s. We rehearse, but it’s mostly jam sessions for the fun of it. The others would enjoy doing this too. We play mostly everything, and this will test us.”</p>
<p>“You think they’d want me there?”</p>
<p>“Are you kidding? Of course! And we’ve got a full setup of instruments there, too, since Nick doesn’t have to worry about neighbors. Here I have to switch to the keyboard and headphones after 10 PM.”</p>
<p>“Can I ask you a personal question?”</p>
<p>“Shoot.”</p>
<p>“Um, that Kelly Clarkson song? ‘Because of you’? Does it mean anything special to you? It always sounds so personal when you perform it on stage. It’s left me tearing up every time.”</p>
<p>Michael’s smile falters for a bit and then comes back a bit more guardedly. He looks down on the piano keys and plays a couple of notes with one hand. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to answer. It’s none of my business. It’s just. It goes straight to the heart when you perform it,” Sam hastens to assure, fearing he’s overstepped.</p>
<p>“No, it’s alright. Um. Kelly Clarkson has made several songs that hit very close to home for me. Have you heard ‘Piece by piece’? Specifically, the version she performed on American Idol?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Okay. Uh. I interpret it somewhat differently since she sings about her dad in comparison to her husband. I don’t have a significant other, so for me, it’s my siblings and my current dad compared to my birth parents, but…” He takes a deep breath, hesitates, and then begins to play. “<i>And all I remember is your back, Walking towards the airport, leaving us all in your past…</i>”</p>
<p>If Sam had thought that ‘Because of you’ was an emotional performance, he couldn’t have prepared for how soul shatteringly this would be. </p>
<p>“<i>But your love, it isn’t free, it has to be earned. Back then I didn’t have anything you needed, so I was worthless…</i></p>
<p>By the second verse, Sam’s openly crying and has to press his hand over his mouth not to make a sound and ruin it. </p>
<p>“<i>But piece by piece,</i><br/>
<i>he collected me </i><br/>
<i>Up off the ground,</i><br/>
<i> where you abandoned things and </i><br/>
<i>Piece by piece </i><br/>
<i>he filled the holes that you burned in me </i><br/>
<i>At six years old</i><br/>
<i>And you know, he never walks away </i><br/>
<i>He never asks for money </i><br/>
<i>He takes care of me, he loves me </i><br/>
<i>Piece by piece, he restored my faith </i><br/>
<i>That a man can be kind and a father could stay</i>…”</p>
<p>Michael lets the last note die down and turns his head to look at Sam, eyes glossy and smile shy.</p>
<p>Sam sniffles. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.” He leans in to hug Michael, not knowing if it’s okay or not. It doesn’t matter. Michael hugs him back with a humorless little chuckle. </p>
<p>“It’s okay. I’m not in that place anymore. Good people saw to that.”</p>
<p>“Still.”</p>
<p>“No, really. Wait. I’ll get you tissue and the lotion I promised you.” Michael frees himself and goes to fetch the mentioned items.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for bawling like an idiot.”</p>
<p>Michael smiles and shakes his head as he comes back. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a compliment. It’s an emotional piece. I’m glad I can convey it. Heh. Nick refuses to let us perform it on stage because he can’t listen to me sing it without tearing up, which apparently hurts his macho image or something like that. I told you, he’s all heart and spiky exterior.”</p>
<p>Sam dries his eyes and blows his nose with the offered tissues. “So… I kinda killed the mood with my question, huh? You’re adopted? Or if you don’t want to talk about it…?”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind. Grab your beer. We’ll move to the couch. And put that lotion on.”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles at the fake-scolding tone of the last sentence but still feels like bawling. Nevertheless, he does what he's told. When they’re both seated on the couch, leaning on an armrest each, facing each other, Michael begins to talk. “My dad wasn’t a nice man. Much like Clarkson’s dad, he left when I was six. I was devastated back then, but in hindsight, I wish he'd left sooner.”</p>
<p>“He hit you?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes. But that wasn't the worst part. Mom and dad fought a lot. They’d yell mean shit at each other. He'd destroy stuff, flip over tables, throw things, and occasionally hit us. Mom mostly. He'd be gone for days at a time too. He was very controlling. He could tell you to do something, then when you did it, he'd be angry at you for doing it and claim he'd never told you to do it. He'd call us names. ‘Worthless’, ‘stupid’, ‘embarrassing’, ‘disappointing’, stuff like that. I remember him saying ‘Disgusting. You can’t even talk straight. You can’t possibly be my son.’ I was four then, and the spitting image of him as a kid. It’s one of my earliest memories.”</p>
<p>“That’s horrible.”</p>
<p>“Mhm. And still, I loved him, and would do anything to get his attention.” Michael doesn’t seem to be bothered to talk about it. </p>
<p>“What about your mom?”</p>
<p>“Her life circled around dad, always trying to please him. When he wasn't at home, she cried a lot. Stayed in the bedroom. Took pills. I, uh. I helped her as much as I could. Tried to make her happy, tried to make dad care about me. But there’s only so much a little kid can do. I didn’t really understand what was going on. How could I? It was all I knew, right?”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“When I was three, my mom had another baby. Castiel. He was…” <i>Now</i> Michael runs into an emotional roadblock and has to pause to drink and collect himself before he goes on. “He was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I adored him. He'd scrunch his face up and tilt his head when he didn't understand something, and when he smiled, it was all gums and delight. He had huge blue eyes that looked like they'd seen everything already despite being a toddler.”</p>
<p>“I can imagine yours did too, by then.”</p>
<p>Michael throws him a look and shrugs. “Possibly.” He takes another sip of beer. “I still think of him often… When, uh. When dad left for good, I had just turned six. They’d had a huge fight about mom spending too much on my… on my birthday present.” Michael pauses. He presses his lips together and swallows audibly. “Sorry. I… for such a long time, I thought it was my fault dad left. And therefore, what happened next was my fault, too, even if every adult I met after that assured me it wasn’t. As if I just hadn’t had my birthday…” He shakes his head. “From an adult’s perspective, it’s insane. I can’t even feel sorry for my mom. She could have taken us and left. If she was afraid, there are women’s shelters. She could have taken the car and driven three states away, changed our names, disappeared. She had plenty of opportunities for that, and if there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that there are a lot of good people out there dedicated to helping. The problem is that you have to find them, they don’t go looking for you. Bottom line is, there’s always a choice. Even when it doesn’t seem that way. My parents were both self-absorbed and negligent as parents.”</p>
<p>“So what happened?”</p>
<p>“After dad left, mom got worse. More pills, more crying, less housework, and childcare. It was alright, though; I knew how to cook.” The last sentence is said so dryly and with such flat expression that Sam gets that it was anything but alright. “Then one day I went to get Cas to tell him I'd made his favorite, fruit loops, for dinner. I, uh, I found him lifeless on the floor in mom's bedroom. He'd gotten into mom's pills. I couldn’t wake her up either, which was nothing new. She'd dose herself pretty heavily with what I presume was sleeping pills.”</p>
<p>“He died?” Sam asks, horrified. </p>
<p>“Luckily, no. I'd watched a lot of TV. I knew that you're supposed to dial 911. They sent a dispatch that was there within minutes. Cas went to the hospital and survived. But it was the last time I saw him. You can imagine it. A hysterical six-year-old trying to explain that it's his fault his three-year-old brother ate mommy’s no-no pills because he couldn’t watch him while preparing fruit loops for dinner. On top of that, the police officer trying to calm me down smelled something burning.” Michael grins. “I'd been doing laundry and had been ironing a shirt when Cas distracted me by whining about being hungry. The CPS was on the case like flies on a turd.”</p>
<p>“The CPS?” Sam feels the old dread like a lump of ice in his belly. </p>
<p>Michael laughs. “You look like I just told you we were handed over to the boogie man. It was the best thing that could have happened to us. Cas got adopted. His foster parents came to see him at the hospital, fell in love, and filed for adoption. He was saved. I didn’t fare quite so well. It'd take eight more years before I ended up with dad, and I too was saved.”</p>
<p>“They didn’t let you see Cas?”</p>
<p>“I was promised to. And if we hadn't been separated from the start, we might have ended up together. But unfortunate circumstances prevented it.”</p>
<p>“And you ended up somewhere horrible?”</p>
<p>Michael smiles and shakes his head. “Not. Not really. The first couple who took me in was great, warm, and caring people. Unfortunately, they had other kids living there, and the same couldn’t be said for them. I was bullied, and that got worse when I started school.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“I had a stutter? We’re talking a really bad stutter. The first couple felt that they couldn’t keep me safe and give me all the attention I needed to overcome my speech impediment, so I was moved to another place. The intention was good, but not all who take on foster kids are devoted to their well-being. In the next place, the woman would mock me and call me names. I got worse, stopped talking at all if I could avoid it, started wetting my bed, and was moved from place to place when I got too difficult to handle. I was fourteen when I ended up in Chuck’s home for lost boys. By then, I never made eye contact, flinched at sudden movements, barely talked, and still wet my bed. If you ever meet dad, you won’t believe he has the ability to save anyone. He’s a borderline alcoholic who walks around in his bathrobe most of the time, looking defeated and twitchy. But he has a gift when it comes to taking boys the system has given up on and rewrite their destiny from tragedy to hopeful, and I love him to bits.”</p>
<p>“Wow. How come you, if you had a stutter, I mean, started to sing?”</p>
<p>Michael grins. “That’s the weird part. I could always sing clearly. When the stress of life got too much, I used to sit in a corner and sing show tunes to myself to calm down. If possible, I’d walk around with my walkman on all day, listening to music, shutting the world out. It meant not hearing when bullies were about to get violent, but on the upside, it meant not hearing the bullies. You want another beer?”</p>
<p>“Sure, thanks.” Sam downs the last swallows in his beer and hands Michael the bottle. Michael gets up and walks to the kitchen. Sam doesn’t really know how to digest all that he’s just been told. It certainly explains why none of the brothers look alike. He’s dead curious about Nick and Gabe’s stories. And what happened to Cas? And how did Michael get from the shape he was in when he came to Chuck’s to the rockstar he’s on stage today? Did he breeze through telling about his foster life because it was so traumatic, or did he focus on speaking about Cas because that was the most traumatic experience? The questions just keep coming.</p>
<p>“So, what’s your tragic backstory?” Michael chirps when he comes back with their beers.</p>
<p>“I don’t really have one? Nothing in league with yours anyway.”</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s not a competition. The fewer people who can tell stories like mine, the happier I’d be. And, shit, even if you do have a story to tell, it’s up to you if you want to share it or not. I’m thirty now, and feel like I’ve come far enough that I <i>can</i> talk about it. But when I was nineteen, my stutter would have come back with a vengeance just thinking about telling a stranger.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t your fault, what happened to you.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. But it took me some time to believe that. Not just knowing it in my head, but feeling it in my heart too.” They both take a sip of their beers, then Michael asks, “You going home to see your family this summer?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know where they live now,” Sam blurts. It’s not something he’d tell just anyone. But Michael’s very confidence-inspiring.</p>
<p>Michael raises his eyebrows in question.</p>
<p>“I ran away. We often move, so I don't know where they live. Dad loves me very much, and I made sure to get straight A’s in school partly to make him proud. But I hadn’t told him I also did it because I wanted to go to college. I had sent applications to several schools without telling him. When the first acceptance letter came, I was ecstatic. But when I showed it to him, he got furious.”</p>
<p>“<i>Why</i>? It seems like something a dad would be proud of.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s what I’d thought. But dad yelled at me for trying to abandon the family and forbade me to go. It was the only time he’d ever hit me.”</p>
<p>“That’s an odd reaction from a parent.”</p>
<p>Sam makes a noncommittal sound. “Mh. But I’d dreamed of going to college for years. So when the next admittance letter came, offering me a full ride, I packed my backpack and left. I hitchhiked through thirteen states, and here I am.”</p>
<p>“Whoa. That’s really brave. You hitchhiked? I would never have dared. With all the dangers out there? Especially for a young person. Some of the stories I’ve been told… Granted, you’re a bit older than those who told me. But still. Having to rough it, violence, sexual predators, the dangers are endless.” </p>
<p>Sam manages not to cringe. Lately, things he’s been completely at ease with before have started making him uncomfortable, and he can’t tell why. </p>
<p>Michael goes on. “I feel so lucky I never had to do anything like that. The CPS always had my back. The caseworkers, most of them, were truly great. When one place didn’t work out, they’d move me. They did their best. And I always had food, shelter, and clothes. The bullying at school and by peers, well… they couldn’t do anything about that. Kids can be downright cruel.”</p>
<p>“But Chuck could?”</p>
<p>“Nu-uh. Not personally. But he did give me a safe home environment and accepted all my issues. Being more or less non-communicative, bedwetting, scared of everything… I can’t really put my finger on what he did. Nick would tell you he was resigned and didn’t give a shit. But my real dad didn’t give a shit, so I knew what that felt like. What he didn’t do, was put any pressure on me to improve or be ‘rehabilitated’, so to speak.”</p>
<p>“So how did the bullying stop? <i>Did</i> it stop?”</p>
<p>“Ah, that was dad’s stroke of genius. Okay, so. I wasn’t the only boy living there at the time. His place wasn’t a foster home as much as it was a dumpster for tricky cases. He made us share rooms, and I think I can speak for most of the boys who have ever passed through Chuck’s home for boys when I say that the only ones we came to think of like siblings were our roommates. Sometimes a boy would arrive and be placed in a room with other boys, sometimes in a room he had to himself. For the first year, I had a room to myself even though there were new arrivals.” Michael smiles impishly like he’s thinking of a really fond and funny memory. “Then one morning, Nick arrived, dragged in by two cops, kicking and screaming, throwing threats around. Within the first five minutes, he’d given dad a nose bleed and spit in his face twice.”</p>
<p>Sam hiccups an amused, startled little laugh. Nick must have been thirteen at the time. He tries to imagine it, but the only visual that comes up is Dean that one time when an older boy at school had punched Sam. It had taken several people to tear Dean off the kid. Yeah, no. Sam might have had trouble getting friends, but he’d never been bullied. Dean might have had something to do with that, come to think of it.</p>
<p>“So apparently, dad took one look at Nick the reprobate, and thought to himself, ‘Hmm. I better put this one with the fifteen-year-old that still pees himself, stutters, and is afraid of everything’.” Michael sniggers.</p>
<p>“Holy shit. That’s cruel.”</p>
<p>“It could have been. I sure as shit was scared witless of Nick. I just saw another bully in him. But that was dad’s genius at work. He saw beyond our masks. I don’t know how, but he did.”</p>
<p>“You got along from the start?”</p>
<p>“Not even close. I told you Nick’s a pufferfish. The tiniest disturbance in the water, and he’s a ball of spikes. Back then, those spikes were literal. His hair was gelled up in spikes, and his leather jacket had spikes, as well as his bracelets. He was loud, obnoxious, and hostile. It took some time, but Nick isn’t a bully. He’s the opposite of a bully. Bullies go for those who can’t defend themselves. As long as nobody tried to take my walkman from me, I was the most non-threatening person on the planet. So instead, he decided I was his to protect.”</p>
<p>“And if someone tried to take your walkman?”</p>
<p>“I went full-on kamikaze,” Michael grins.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s almost midnight when Sam steps out of the cab Michael had paid for him. He’s in a great mood, and a bit buzzed. Michael’s just so easy to talk to, and it doesn’t feel like he wants something from Sam except getting to know him better. Plus, he'd gotten to learn more about Nick. He'd asked about Nick’s back story, but Michael said it wasn't for him to tell. Talking about shared events is one thing. Giving up really personal details, he only has second-hand knowledge of, something else. Sam has full respect for that.</p>
<p>He walks up to his door, having to round a parked car to get to it, and takes his keys from his pocket. The car door opens, and someone steps out of it behind him. “Pretty late to be out on a weekday.”</p>
<p>Sam startles and drops his key. He spins around to find Kelvin standing there with a big bouquet of red roses, a bottle of champagne, and two champagne flutes. “Shit, you scared me,” he blurts with a pounding heart.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I've missed you so much. I decided to surprise you. You’re home later than I expected.”</p>
<p>“I told you I was gonna be busy.”</p>
<p>“Aren't you happy to see me?”</p>
<p>“Of course, I am.” Except Sam's heart still hammers in fright, and he hadn’t told Kelvin his room number, and he'd specifically told Kelvin that he <i>didn’t</i> have time tonight, and if Kelvin had expected him home earlier, he must have waited for quite some time, and it all makes Sam anxious.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s a romantic gesture? So much Kelvin had done was romantic.</p>
<p>Only, once again, Kelvin is contrasted by Michael, who’s never put any pressure on Sam. Who respects Sam’s choices and boundaries without the slightest hesitation.</p>
<p>
  <i>Stop it. I can’t compare them. Michael is a new friend whom I’ve known for less than three weeks. Kelvin is my lover since months back. Of course he has the right to put pressure on me and make demands.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <strike>No, he doesn’t.</strike>
  </i>
</p>
<p>He ignores the little voice that says that Kelvin should have respected his ‘no’ just as much as Michael should, no matter how long they’ve known each other or what they are to each other. Thinking that thought made dad’s voice go ‘<i>Don’t get uppity with me, boy,</i>’ in his head. It’s nothing he remembers dad saying, but it brings an urge to curl into himself and assure him that he’s a good boy and he had no intention to…</p>
<p>...to what?</p>
<p>Kelvin walks up to him, and Sam greets him with a big smile and a kiss.</p>
<p>“These are for you, boo.” Kelvin offers him the roses, and Sam accepts them, breathing in their heavy, sweet perfume.</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Kelvin scoops up Sam’s room key from the ground, unlocks, and steps inside the room. Sam follows, still smiling but feeling uncomfortable about Kelvin going inside before him. He’s glad he wiped Claire’s lipstick off the mirror and hid his laptop. All his writing is saved in cloud storage, and he hides it in case there’s a break-in, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have wanted Kelvin to see his writing. “So this is where you live, huh?” Kelvin asks and looks around.</p>
<p>“Yeah. It’s not much.” Sam puts the roses on the table. “Would you excuse me? I need to use the bathroom.”</p>
<p>“Go ahead. It’s a bit messy,” Kelvin reviews.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t expecting guests,” Sam answers before he shuts the bathroom door and locks it. Once inside, he takes up his phone. Nick’s both on his lock screen and home screen. He quickly changes it to a generic picture, then debates whether to delete all his photos and text convos or not. The idea makes him cringe inside. Instead, he changes his security settings to maximum then switches his phone off. For good measures, he pees while he’s in there, too, so Kelvin won’t suspect he just went to the bathroom because he had something to hide.</p>
<p>When he comes back out, Kelvin has used the room’s ice bucket as a vase for the roses, tidied up a bit, and poured the champagne. Sam wonders why it bugs him that Kelvin has tidied up. It’s just clothes, but still. Kelvin smiles and holds out a champagne flute to him. “Here you go, boo.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>They clink their glasses in a toast, take a sip, then Kelvin pulls him in for another kiss. “Shit, it feels good to hold you close again.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Sam agrees and rests his head on Kelvin’s shoulder. Kelvin has an arm around him and rocks them as if they’re slow dancing. </p>
<p>“Did you have fun with your friend tonight?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. It was great.”</p>
<p>“What did you do?”</p>
<p>“Had a few beers and talked.”</p>
<p>“What did you talk about?”</p>
<p>“He told me about his life, growing up in foster care.”</p>
<p>“A sad story, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah…”</p>
<p>“Watch out. He’ll try to lure you into his bed.”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “No, he won’t. Not everyone wants to sleep with me.”</p>
<p>“Then they’re fools. But you’re not cheating on me, right?”</p>
<p>“No. Of course not.” </p>
<p>“Never thought you would, Sam.” Kelvin kisses his neck. “I’m so hooked on you, babe.”</p>
<p>Sam takes another sip of champagne. This whole conversation makes his skin itch. Instead of answering, he seeks Kelvin’s mouth, letting his body do the talking.</p>
<p>There is a tense moment once they’re naked when Kelvin notes and asks about the bruises, scrapes, and marks on Sam’s body. Sam can’t exactly tell him he was one of the main attractions of a BDSM party, so he makes up a rueful lie about going hiking in the hills outside of the city, losing his footing on loose gravel and taking a long and painful tumble. For a moment, Kelvin looks as if he isn’t buying it, but then he switches to sympathy instead, and Sam relaxes.</p>
<p>One thing is for sure. Kelvin is a fantastic lover when he wants to be. And this time, he’s entirely focused on Sam’s pleasure. Two hours later, the anxious feeling is completely forgotten, and he lies sated, drowsy, and champagne-drunk in Kelvin’s arms, hovering between sleep and wakefulness.</p>
<p>“I’ve got you a gift. Wait.” Kelvin gets out of bed and goes to fetch a little box from his jacket. Sam sits up, curious despite his drowsiness. Kelvin hands him the box and sits down on the bed, stroking Sam’s thigh.</p>
<p>Sam opens the box. Inside there’s a curb link silver bracelet with ‘Sam’ engraved on a curved bar. He takes it out and notices there’s engravement on the inside of the bar too, where it would be resting against his skin. He turns it over to see the name ‘Kelvin’. He makes his lips form a smile. “Thank you. Now I can keep you close even when you’re not around.” </p>
<p>“My thought exactly, boo.” Kelvin takes the bracelet from his hand and puts it around his wrist. “Looks good on you.”</p>
<p>A <i>chain</i> with an owner’s tag. That’s what it is.</p>
<p>Sam knows what to do when you get a gift. He knows how to show gratitude. Tired or not, this time he makes it about Kelvin. Dirty-talks him the way that drives Kelvin mad. (‘<i>Yes! Pound my white-boy ass with that big black dick of yours! Please! Harder, Sir!</i>’) When Kelvin rolls off him with a near-stunned grin and a ‘Hot damn!’ Sam’s ready to founder.</p>
<p>He’s in the wasteland between sleep and consciousness when Kelvin asks, “You still going to study what you said you would, the next semester?”</p>
<p>“Mmhm.”</p>
<p>“That will put you in two of my classes.”</p>
<p>“Mh.”</p>
<p>“It would be awkward if you left me.”</p>
<p>“Mh.”</p>
<p>“It would be really fucking awkward for you. Know what I'm sayin’?”</p>
<p>There’s something about the phrasing that makes Sam uneasy enough to pry an eye open to look at Kelvin. But sleep hovers too close and drags him under before he's done more than wonder if he just got threatened. </p>
<p>When Kelvin leaves, Sam takes the bracelet right off...</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you're all creeped out by Kelvin by now. His initial influence on Sam wasn't bad. But now he's starting to overstep into "the dark side" to a degree even Sam can feel it. Granted, it's possible Sam wouldn't get that if Mikey hadn't been in such a sharp contrast. Sam is a really good and empathic person. His compassion in the face of other people's insecurities and problems will bring both good and bad in the future.</p>
<p>Also, I didn't mention her name but if you didn't catch it, Mikey's last crush was Charlie. Over-all, Charlie as a rare, canon lesbian, is a no-go for straight or bisexual pairings in fanfiction. It's one of those unwritten rules. I get it. But something that actually bugs me a bit is that I've never come across a man having a crush on her in a fanfic. Never. Like, she's one of the most vibrant, awesome, positive women in SPN, and you're telling me no man can fall for her??? Yeah, no. I don't buy it. She's brave, resourceful, full of life and passion, smiles a lot, and is beautiful. So, of course, she's everything Mike wants but can't have in life.<br/>(Don't worry, there's a happy ending in store for him too.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick is struggling with how to deal with his feelings for Sam.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for offensive language and slurs.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>“Where were you last night? I thought you’d stop by for a jam session?” Nick asks as they trudge back and forth from his house, toting instruments to the van. Michael and Gabe take half days off during Wednesdays this summer so they can set up and do a soundcheck before the bar opens. Nick’s lucky enough to only have to skip out on lunch to make it in time without taking time off. It’s the only upside of having to start work as early as he does.<p>“Aww. Couldn’t play without me, huh?” Michael teases.</p>
<p>“Fuck off. We sounded <i>better</i>. And we switched the songs we’re playing today.”</p>
<p>Michael stacks his crate and jumps out of the van. “That’s my punishment, huh? Let me see the list,” he chuckles and holds his hand out, unfazed and amused at their passive-aggressive move. It’s not like they have to practice much as long as they stick to the songs they know. They always play together two to four times a week just for the fun of it. This summer, their performances at the bar had been integrated with that, and now and then one of them would skip out of their rehearsals, Nick included. His brothers have keys and can let themselves in. No need to call ahead unless they’d agreed to learn a new song. But Michael rarely stays at home when he can play with them. It makes Nick curious. Nick hands over the list, and Michael scans it and takes a pen from his pocket. He strikes two songs out. “No, to these two. And I think we should start with River again. Gives me time to collect myself, plus Sam likes it.”</p>
<p>Michael’s a little shit, fighting dirty. Nick pretends he doesn’t notice the pointed teasing look. “Alright. How about ‘Blurred Lines’ instead of the other one? See if we can rile up any feminazis.”</p>
<p>Michael sniggers and writes in the two songs on the list. “You just luuuv to troll them, don’t you? Fair enough. It’s a good song anyway.”</p>
<p>“No it’s not.”</p>
<p>“Yes it is. And you’re doing the high notes since you suggested it.”</p>
<p>“Ugh.” Nick snatches the list back with a grimace but doesn’t protest. “So where were you yesterday?” he asks again as they head inside to get another load.</p>
<p>“I had a friend over.”</p>
<p>“Ooooh, a frieeend?” Nick leers. “<i>Boom chicka bow bow.</i>” He makes a dance move thrusting his hips suggestively. Michael gives him an amused, too knowing look but doesn’t answer. “Who was she? That black-haired one from last Wednesday? Marissa?” He picks up a crate and starts heading back.</p>
<p>Michael snorts with a smirk and lifts one of the amplifiers. “Sure. But for some reason, she ran out on me after I gave her a Dirty Sanchez. Can’t imagine why...”</p>
<p>Nick stops and scrunches up his face. “Now I <i>know</i> you’re just messing with me.”</p>
<p>“It was just a friend, Nick. We had a few beers, played a bit of piano, and talked. I talked about my childhood, Cas, and how you and I met. It wasn’t more than that,” Michael says offhandedly.</p>
<p>He’s being baited. Nick knows it. If Michael's comfortable enough to talk about Cas, it's probably someone Nick’s met. And if he doesn’t come clean right away, he wants Nick to ask about it. “It can’t be Marissa then. You’d only met her once? Twice before? Was it Jodie?”</p>
<p>“Why does it have to be a woman?” </p>
<p>“Because for you to figure out how to pick up a guy, he has to signal with a neon sign. I know you, Mikey. When it comes to picking up women, your game level is Yuri On Ice, but with men, it's <i>Bambi</i> on ice.”</p>
<p>Michael cackles. “What do <i>you</i> know about Yuri On Ice?” he teases. </p>
<p>
  <i>Busted.</i>
</p>
<p>“I saw the porn version,” Nick lies. “Why are you evasive? Is it that guy whatshisface, Chad, from your work?”</p>
<p>Michael makes a face. “Why would it be him?” he asks in bemusement. </p>
<p>“Because he looks like he’s ready to hump your leg any time you walk into a room. Plus, he plays an instrument. Saxophone, was it?”</p>
<p>“He does? And no. It’s the clarinet. If it'd be saxophone I'd frigging <i>marry</i> him on the spot. A solo sax is pure porn. I'm telling you, I could jerk off to a guy playing the sax. We could use one in the band.”</p>
<p>“Not if you're going to jerk off during rehearsals, we don’t,” Nick jokes, making both of them snigger. “And, yes. Chad wants to get it on with you. I can’t believe you're so oblivious about it.”</p>
<p>“Huh. He’s not really my type, but…” Michael stops. They've gone two more rounds. Gabe is late. Nick’s sure he keeps his crap car just to have something to blame for being late and not have to carry anything. Mikey takes his phone from his pocket and hands it over. “Call him for me.”</p>
<p>Nick grins and goes through the phone book until he finds ‘Chad’. It’s just the office number, which rules him out as yesterday's visitor. Too impersonal. Michael looks anxious now, but Nick’s impressed. He steps out of his comfort zone more frequently than ever. Making Nick do this part is a shortcut that forces him to follow through, and Nick’s around for support if it goes to shit. He hits dial, waits for the tone, and hands the phone over to Michael.</p>
<p>Michael presses the phone to his ear and looks at the ground. Nick can see when Chad answers because Michael flushes a deep red. “Hi, Chad. It’s Michael Novak, from accounting? ...No, I’m not. I’m calling from home right now. I, uh…” Michael stalls, looking panicked. Nick hooks his arm around his neck and leans on him. The physical touch jars Mikey out of it. He’s started to sweat profusely from one moment to another. “I don’t know if you know, but I play in a band? We’re playing at Pub Anchor today at 8. I was wondering if you’d come to see us play, and then grab a drink with us, <i>me</i>, afterward?” Michael bites his lip and stares tensely into nothing while he waits for the answer. Nick presses his head against the back of Michael’s phone to hear what Chad has to say. Chad asks if anyone else from work is coming. “No, no. Just you. I, uh. Just you.”</p>
<p>Chad’s quiet for a beat as if he’s the one whose brain is stalling. He starts saying that he has this thing with his sister. Then he very carefully asks if it’s a date. “It doesn’t <i>have</i> to be? If you don’t want it to be. You could bring your sister along and just…” Michael trails off. Chad carefully goes, ‘<i>But it could be?</i>’ Michael squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes. Definitely could be.” ‘<i>It’s a date, then</i>,’ Chad chirps. ‘<i>I’ll reschedule with my sister. I’ll be there.</i>’ “Great! See you there! Bye!” </p>
<p>Michael fist-pumps when he hangs up. “Yes! Result!” They high five, then sing “<i>Boom chicka bow bow,</i>” repeatedly and do a sexy, coordinated dance in a slow circle…</p>
<p>...Just when Gabe walks in. “Do I even want to know? Because if that’s part of our new routine, I’m totally wearing a sequin mankini.”</p>
<p>“Michael has a date for tonight. With a <i>guy</i>,” Nick informs him with a snigger.</p>
<p>“Right on! Who is it?”</p>
<p>They get sidetracked talking about Chad while they work. Michael goes to change into a dry shirt since he’d soaked his through with his phone call nerves. Gabe gets assigned to drive the van. Michael and Nick wait with suspense for their little brother to open the door to the driver’s seat, then laugh when he discovers the kid booster seat they’ve put there as a joke about his lack of height. It’s not until they’re on their way that Nick remembers Mikey never told him who his guest was. “So who was your date yesterday?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Mickaroo had a date yesterday? Big bro’s on a roll,” Gabe coos.</p>
<p>“It wasn’t a date. I told you. He’s a friend.”</p>
<p>“Who was it?” Gabe asks.</p>
<p>“Nick’s boyfriend.”</p>
<p>Nick chokes on spittle. “<i>Bullshit!</i>”</p>
<p>“Nope. Got photo evidence to prove it,” Michael says with a shit-eating grin. Then opens the gallery on his phone and passes it to Nick. “You can take all of them except the one at the piano, because he wasn’t aware I took that one,” he adds more seriously. </p>
<p>Nick looks at the selfies of the two of them; Sam leaned against Michael’s chest on the couch to fit in the frame. His jealousy mounts. Objectively, this is a good thing. Michael is a great guy in every way, whether as a friend or boyfriend. (Barring the fact that Nick’s still sure Sam’s underage. But he can’t be <i>that</i> much underage, and Nick’s reservation against it is how easily a young person can be taken advantage of without even knowing it. Unless you drop down to even younger kids, in which case you should be shot without a trial.) </p>
<p>Objectivity. </p>
<p>But Nick’s feelings aren't objective. </p>
<p>The photo of Sam by the piano is beautiful. He's playing with one hand in deep concentration, oblivious to the world around him. “He plays the piano?” Nick asks and reluctantly refrains from sending himself that pic along with the others. Damn Michael and his strict moral rules. </p>
<p>“No. That was his first try. And he managed to figure out how to play ‘Are you sleeping, Brother John?’ within minutes, without help. Pretty good, I’d say.”</p>
<p>“Did he…” Nick’s so beyond playing it cool. His brothers already know him well enough that if he’d pretend not to give a shit, it would only result in more teasing. “Um. Did he say anything about me?”</p>
<p>Gabe and Michael are fucking shitheads. If they could refrain from laughing, that would be good, thank you. But no. Assholes.</p>
<p>“Yes. Well. He asked about you rather than talk about you. And anytime your name came up, he'd hang onto every word. You haven't ruined your chances completely.”</p>
<p>“I've told you, he’s too young. And something about him is problematic, I know it.” He tells himself he doesn’t need a young man with possible issues in his life. He’d make it worse. Ruin the dimpled little shit for life. He can tell himself that all he wants - his belly fills up with butterflies whatever he tries to convince himself of.</p>
<p>“You might be right about that. He didn’t tell me much, but he did say his dad forbade him to leave for college. Accused him of abandoning the family. He had to run away from home to be able to go.”</p>
<p>“Totally normal,” Gabe chips in dubiously. </p>
<p>“My thoughts exactly. He claimed he has no tragic backstory, though, so until he feels up to sharing, there’s no way to tell why his dad reacted that way.”</p>
<p>“So if he doesn’t live with his family, where does he live?” Incidentally, there are three people named Winchester living in the city―none of them Sam. A fact quickly revealed by some googling.</p>
<p>“He lives alone in a motel.”</p>
<p>“What motel?”</p>
<p>“Nick,” Michael warns.</p>
<p>“He’s all alone. What if something happens to him? Somebody’s gotta look after him,” Nick argues.</p>
<p>“<i>Nick.</i>” Michael’s sterner this time.</p>
<p>“<i>Michael</i>,” Nick parodies, making a face.</p>
<p>“You know it won’t help not telling him,” Gabe points out.</p>
<p>“Gabe, we don’t need another restraining order,” Michael argues.</p>
<p>“Fuck sake!” Nick protests. “For the millionth time, I <i>wasn’t. Stalking. Tina.</i> ...I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”</p>
<p>“Repeatedly. With binoculars. At odd hours,” Michael deadpans dryly.</p>
<p>“I suppose, technically,” Gabe adds innocently, “her yard counts as the neighborhood.”</p>
<p>Nick groans and deflates in his seat as both his stupid brothers snigger. “That was years ago. I know better now. I learned my lesson, okay? Besides, I was still―”</p>
<p>“I’ve got a tip for you,” Michael interrupts. “Why don’t you grow a pair and<i>ask him yourself</i>?”</p>
<p>“Or you can simply tell me?”</p>
<p>Michael gives him a dead stare.</p>
<p>“Oy, Micko. Was it next Monday you have your yearly salary negotiation?” Gabe asks, knowing very well that it is.</p>
<p>A look of sheer dread steals over Michael’s face. “Nope. They moved it to next Friday,” he lies as if he could fool them.</p>
<p>Nick’s relieved the focus shifts from him to Michael, but disappointed that the topic shifts away from Sam. On the other hand, it’s always fun to see Michael’s mounting fear of what shenanigans Gabe will put him through. ‘Confidence building exercise’ Gabe called it. He’d done grander schemes each year. Last year he’d switched out <i>all</i> of Michael’s clothes for neon colored counterparts and changed the alarm clock to go off, so Mikey only had fifteen minutes to get ready. The choice was to be late, call in sick, or go to work in whatever Gabe had set up. Miracles do happen, and Michael chose to be on time despite being dressed in a mishmash of neon clothing items. He’d pulled off the meeting to boot. (Although, he refused to relay anything said at the meeting.) But it meant that this year’s challenge is probably going to be worse. Secretly, Nick looks forward to seeing this year’s result.</p>
<p>But mostly, he looks forward to seeing Sam.</p><hr/>
<p>Nick scans the patrons from the door to the office in the back that they use as their lounge before the gig. It doesn’t take long to spot Sam by the bar. He’s with his usual crowd. Nick’s learned their names by now. Ennis, Steve, Andy, and that bitch Claire that’s always circling Sam like she owns him, then swoops in to grab him every night when Sam’s about to leave. Nick knows Sam isn’t very close with any of them (although it’s not clear if they know it), that Claire is a new addition to their squad, and that Sam’s known the guys since he came to college last year. It’s obvious what they’re talking about. Ennis is standing back to back with Sam, and Steve measures their height difference with his hand. From the expressions and broad gesturing that follows, Nick can surmise two things. One, they’ve been drinking for a while already, and two, Sam and Ennis were the same height when they met, and now Sam’s inches taller.</p>
<p>Hell, Sam might be taller than Nick. He just doesn’t <i>seem</i> that tall because of his personality and boyish appearance. Now, if he’d just start filling up his frame… …<i>aaand</i> maybe not go there since it’s hard enough not to let his mind go X-rated as it is.</p>
<p>“Are you just going to stand there and moon, or are you gonna get your ass over there and talk to loverboy?”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Gabe,” Nick mutters.</p>
<p>“You said you’d apologize in person,” Michael reminds him.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright. I’m going,” Nick whines with a frown and remains standing exactly where he is. Fucking nerves.</p>
<p>Apparently, this is funny to his bitch-ass brothers. He hears them snigger behind his back and silently seethes. </p>
<p>Better take the bull by the horns, or he’ll never hear the end of it. It’s not like he’s shy. He’s got game. Sam already likes him. How hard can it be?</p>
<p>He slinks out of the room and starts making his way over there.</p>
<p>‘<i>Hey, Sam. Glad you’re feeling better. We missed you at our last gig. Sorry I was such a dick last time. No hard feelings, right?</i>’</p>
<p>
  <i>Fuck, I’m such a fucking idiot. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so nervous I’m rehearsing a fucking ‘hello’. This is ridiculous.</i>
</p>
<p>At the last minute, he makes a detour and bypasses them for the toilets by the exits instead. It makes no sense since there are toilets in the back and one in the fucking office too. He gets mad at himself for chickening out and makes a U-turn, coming up on Sam from behind. Claire is standing beside Sam, sipping her beer with one finger proprietarily hooked in Sam’s waistband, discreetly scanning the crowd like she always is. Nick wonders if Sam’s aware of how often she chases off other girls that try to flirt with him. She spots Nick coming, lets go of Sam, and backs away to stand beside Steve instead.</p>
<p>
  <i>That’s right, bitch. Know your fucking place. Sam’s <b>mine</b>. I won’t let you taint him with your problems.</i>
</p>
<p>Nick comes up by Sam’s side, opens his mouth to speak, aaaand…</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>His head is blank.</p>
<p>Instead, he duffs Sam with his shoulder, passing.</p>
<p>“Hey! Watch―”  Sam starts to scold with a frown, almost spilling his beer. Then he sees Nick and his face smooths out.</p>
<p>Nick gives him a lopsided smirk, bites his lower lip, and winks, but keeps walking (swaggering), turning his head to maintain eye contact.</p>
<p>Sam responds by giving him a bright and gorgeously dimpled smile, standing taller, and Nick’s one big lepidopterarium. He simultaneously wants to giggle and facepalm his inability to just fucking apologize.</p>
<p>He turns his head forward to avoid walking into something, ruining his supposed ‘coolness’. Yeah, right. At least, Sam can’t be mad if he smiles that brightly.</p>
<p>He slinks back into the office and closes the door. Gabe is pressing both hands over his mouth, bent double, trying to keep his howl of laughter in. Michael’s standing with his arms crossed, slack-jawed and wide-eyed scowling. “What. The. Hell. Was <i>that?</i>”</p>
<p>“You were watching?” Nick asks redundantly. </p>
<p>“Mhm, yeah. But I'm not sure <i>what</i> I was watching. Jesus, Nick.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck off. I'll apologize to him after the gig.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I'm sure that's what you're telling yourself right now. But we both know that's not how it's going to play out. Now, if you <i>excuse me</i>, I have a friend to greet.” Michael gives him a dark look and pushes himself past Nick, exiting the room. </p>
<p>Gabe finally loses the fight to hold his laughter in. “<i><b>BWAHAHA!</b> I never thought I'd see the day you'd lose your cool so completely.</i>”</p>
<p>Outside the door, he hears Mikey calling out, ‘Hey, Sam! Nick told me you were here! How’s it going?’</p>
<p>Nick finally gives in to the urge to facepalm.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam's always sat across from Nick. Today ended up a bit different. First of all, Claire decided to join them by the table for the first time. Then Michael's date―a gorgeous guy who's a total tool, if Sam may say so―took Sam's usual spot beside Michael. So when Claire sits down beside Sam, Nick gets up from his place and slides in on Sam's other side instead. As usual, Nick places his arm behind whoever sits beside him.</p>
<p>Which just happens to be Sam. </p>
<p>Not that Nick’s said much to him yet. But he keeps turning his head to look at Sam. And he's <i>so close</i>. Their bodies are brushing along Sam's whole side, making his skin tingle and his heart flutter. </p>
<p>Anytime Nick moves, it seems like they get closer. Nick’s scent―faint aftershave mixed with a heavy dose of sweat from his energetic performance on stage―might be the best thing Sam's ever smelled. </p>
<p>When Nick’s openly stared at him for two whole minutes, Sam turns his head to meet his blue gaze. “What?” he asks with a bemused smile, feeling nervous. </p>
<p>“Did you like today's gig?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But you sang the wrong lyrics to Blurred Lines.”</p>
<p>“Did I now?” Nick purrs, low and intimate. </p>
<p>“Mhm. You sang ‘good boy’ instead of ‘good girl’...”</p>
<p>Nick hums amusedly. “How peculiar. Seeing as I'm straight and all…”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But I bet I could change that, given a chance.”</p>
<p>“Don't delude yourself, sweetheart. You can't change anything about me.” Nick’s arm shifts from the backrest behind Sam to hook around his shoulders loosely. </p>
<p>“You could let me try?”</p>
<p>“You’re too young. Wouldn’t want to spoil your innocence…”</p>
<p>Claire puts her hand on Sam’s thigh. Sam hardly notices. His gaze is swept up in Nick’s, feeding on the buzz of electricity between them. Nick can claim to not be straight all he wants - the way he looks at Sam now tells a different story. The eyes are narrowed in teasing challenge, the lips quirk up in the corners, the eye contact unwavering, and his pupils are blown. Everything from the bend of his neck and tilt of his head, turned torso and angle of his hip―this time he’s signaling the exact opposite of what he did the last time Sam saw him.</p>
<p>Sam might ignore Claire’s hand on Sam’s thigh, but Nick doesn’t. Without breaking gaze with Sam, he flicks Claire’s shoulder with his fingers.</p>
<p>“Ow! Don’t touch me, you fucking asshole!” Claire yanks her hand back from Sam and glares heatedly at Nick.</p>
<p>Nick's demeanor changes as his gaze moves from Sam to Claire. His faint smirk doesn’t falter, but his upper lip draws up a bit on one side in distaste, his head straightens up from its tilt, forehead lowering to shadow his eyes, making him look downright predatory―and not in a sexy way. “Nobody’s forcing you to sit by this table, skank.” </p>
<p>Still glaring at Nick, Claire addresses Sam. “Sam, you should stay away from this fuckface. Last time he trampled all over you, and now he’s about to fuck you over. He’s a jerk. I warned you about him.”</p>
<p>“Oh, hon,” Nick pities mockingly. “You’re wrong. I save that kind of treatment for the lowest of the low. Like disgusting, dirty <i>whores</i> like yourself,” he sneers contemptuously. </p>
<p>“Big talk for someone with such a tiny dick. You’re just jealous because Sam’s <i>proportional</i>, and I’ve been riding him like a rodeo bull while you ain’t getting any.”</p>
<p>Nick’s eyes darken dangerously. “Now you listen to me, you flabby cunt―”</p>
<p>But Sam doesn’t hear what comes next. He’s gone cold all over. In his head, there’s just white noise and words dripping of venom on repeat. ‘<i>...the lowest of the low. Like disgusting, dirty <b>whores</b> like yourself. ...the lowest of the low. Like disgusting, dirty <b>whores</b> like yourself. ...the lowest of the low. Like disgusting, dirty <b>whores</b> like yourself. ...the lowest of the low. Like disgusting, dirty <b>whores</b> like yourself…</i>’</p>
<p>“I want no part of this. I’m gonna go take a leak. You two sort this out,” he says, untangles himself from Nick and pushes himself past him to go to the toilet. His mind is reeling. Claire and Nick have had sex? Why hadn’t she said anything? But mostly, Nick’s opinion on what Sam is. <i>Who</i> Sam is… ‘<i>...the lowest of the low. Like disgusting, dirty <b>whores</b> like yourself…</i>’ Sam feels nauseous just thinking about it. And since he and Michael are so close, they probably share the same sentiment about prostitutes. It makes him feel gross. It makes him feel dirty, disgusting, low. They’ll never respect him if they knew. They probably wouldn’t even want him around.</p>
<p>He chooses the men’s room by the exit since it’s less crowded than the one in the back. A urinal and two toilet booths. Only one other man is inside when Sam enters, but he leaves just seconds after Sam comes into the room. Sam stands the furthest away from the door, unzips and takes his dick out to pee.</p>
<p>Steve enters with an oddly determined expression on his face. He comes to stand beside Sam to pee, then throws a peek at Sam’s dick. “I don’t get what all the fuss is about. That faggot dick ain’t <i>that</i> big,” he scoffs.</p>
<p>Sam feels like rolling his eyes. He refrains. “I’m getting tired of your shit, Steve. One minute you’re awesome and fun to be around. Next, you’re a homophobic, sexist asshole. Do you have to keep reminding yourself to be an ass? It doesn’t strike me as your default.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you.”</p>
<p><i>Since I’m the lowest of the low anyway, it doesn’t matter what I do. I might as well…</i> “Not that I care about size, but...You want to see what the fuss is about?”</p>
<p>Steve presses his lips together and gives him a sullen look that says, ‘Yes, I do. But I don’t want to admit it.’</p>
<p>Sam shakes himself off then strokes his dick. Somewhere in his mind, the switch that puts his emotions somewhere else is flipped, and it allows him to get hard in a couple of strokes, growing substantially. Steve’s staring, his own dick forgotten in his hand even though he’s finished peeing.</p>
<p>“Yeah, so. This is what the fuss is about. Personally, I don’t care about size. I’d rather have an average-sized dick like yours if it’d help me avoid crap like what Claire just pulled.”</p>
<p>“You staring at my dick, fag? Why? You want to suck it or something? Fucking freak.” </p>
<p>Sam tucks himself into his pants as good as he can but doesn’t zip up. (That’s just painful to try while he’s still hard.) He turns towards Steve with a flat look. Because Steve might seem hostile and distressed, but he’s not trying to hide, and he’s not fleeing. “You know what? I do,” Sam lies. “You’ve got a real pretty dick.” (It is, actually, as far as dicks go.) He gestures with his head towards one of the toilet stalls. “If you get yourself in there, I’ll give you a quick BJ. I’m good at it. It won’t take long.” </p>
<p>Steve’s eyes flick towards the door nervously. It’s enough to confirm to Sam what he expected.</p>
<p>“You can even call me a dirty fag if it makes you feel better. You’ll get to know what it feels like to be blown by a guy. The only thing I demand of you is that you never claim I forced you to it. You don’t want it, you walk out of here. I don’t put my mouth where it isn’t wanted.”</p>
<p>Steve throws another nervous glance at the door. “If you tell anyone, I’ll―”</p>
<p>“I know. Kill me, beat the shit out of me, end me. I know the drill. I’m good at keeping secrets, believe me,” Sam says tiredly. “So yes or no? Hurry up. If we take too long, we can’t blame a queue or something along those lines.”</p>
<p>Steve makes up his mind and hurries into the stall.</p>
<p>Sam might be the lowest of the low, but as he sinks down on his knees in front of Steve, he thinks that Steve’s bursts of homophobia might stem from self-hate. Maybe he’s never had the chance to live out fantasies like this and never will get the opportunity to discover who he is. Sam’s doing a good deed. He might be a degenerate, but he sure as hell is a good boy.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam waits for a bit, letting Steve leave ahead of him before he exits. He comes out just in time to run into Claire, stomping towards the exit. “You’re leaving?” he asks dumbly.</p>
<p>“You can bet on it,” she answers tightly.</p>
<p>He follows her outside. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d slept with him?”</p>
<p>“Because it was fucking humiliating! He fucked me, then called me ugly things and bodily hauled me out of the house. He threw my clothes out after me and locked the door. It’s not exactly something I want to talk about.” She hails a cab, opens the door, and turns towards him. “You coming?”</p>
<p>Sam hesitates.</p>
<p>“<i>Sam</i>.”</p>
<p>Nick’s voice makes Sam turn around. Nick stands back by the exit to the pub with his arms crossed, watching them with an unreadable expression. </p>
<p>Sam hesitates too long. Claire gets into the cab and slams the door, taking the choice from him. She sends him a sullen glare as the cab pulls away from the curb.</p>
<p>When he spins around towards Nick the second time, Nick’s walking towards him. Sam meets him halfway. “You okay, Sam?”</p>
<p><i>No.</i> Sam crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Did you pay for sex with her?”</p>
<p>Nick scrunches his face up in annoyed confusion. “No. Did she say I did?”</p>
<p>“No. So why’d you call her a whore?” Sam asks, face hard.</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “I said the most insulting thing I could think of. You’re not one of those snowflakes that get all offended by the wrong rhetorics, are you?”</p>
<p>“No. But when someone calls my friend shit like that―”</p>
<p>Nick holds up his hands in a stopping gesture. “Now, hold on. She is <i>not</i> your friend.” He points a finger at Sam’s face, drunk eyes serious. “Her priority is herself. Believe me.”</p>
<p>“Why? Because you fucked her once and threw her out like trash afterward? Yeah, no, asshole.” Sam moves past Nick, angling his body, so he doesn’t touch Nick as he passes.</p>
<p>Nick grabs him by the upper arm. “Sam. I’m an asshole, yes. I do and say stupid shit I regret all the time. But I had very good reasons to throw her out, that had nothing to do with sleeping with her.”</p>
<p>“And what were those?” Sam demands.</p>
<p>Nick opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again, pressing his lips together to a determined line, closing down, walling up.</p>
<p>Sam huffs. “Another thing. You say I’m too young for you. But Claire’s only two years older than me. The level of bullshit coming through your lips makes her the most credible person out of you two,” he states.</p>
<p>“You think I give a shit about what you think of me?” Nick says defensively.</p>
<p>“No. I don’t. People generally don’t. But I care a whole lot about what you think of <i>me</i>,” Sam admits, then yanks himself free and heads inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <tt>...The white wolf sank his yellow teeth deep into the hare’s soft brown coat and shook it violently. Blood and tufts of fur flew everywhere. He let go, laughing, then attacked again before the hare could run away. This time when he shook her, Little Bird thought he heard bones breaking. Little Bird closed his eyes and pressed himself to the ground, shivering in fear.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>A moment later, everything went silent. A cold nose pressed against Little Bird’s naked, tortured back. A warm tongue licked him once. “I thought I told you to fly away, Little Bird,” the wolf leered. “I’m dangerous. I will eat you. Don’t believe me? Open your eyes and see.”</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird opened his eyes. The hare was gone. But tufts of its fur and blood were scattered everywhere. Little Bird whimpered.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>”Fly away, Little Bird,” the wolf repeated. Then he turned and trotted off, leaving Little Bird feeling helpless. Little Bird wanted to fly away so bad, but he couldn’t. He only had tufts of down. No feathers that could carry the weight of a little bird’s body…</tt>
</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sam's self-loathing in this chapter will have positive repercussions in the future. :)</p>
<p>Please, comment! I live for those crumbs of your mind. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. STEVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam gets an unexpected visitor and Nick tries to decide how to act when it comes to Sam.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I chose an actor for Steve today. It landed on Nathaniel Buzolic because he was in Bloodlines just like Ennis, but originally when I wrote him I didn't have anyone particular in mind to "play" Steve. Buzolic looks kinda like a fratboy asshole, though. :) I realize that some of y'all might know him from other franchises. If you want to imagine Steve in some other way, feel free to do so.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div>“Chuck Shurley speaking.”<p>“Hey, Chuck… it’s me.” Nick has his eyes closed and massages the bridge of his nose. His gut clenches around the ball of ice that’s been growing there since his fight with Sam yesterday. Sam had switched place after the fight, sitting between Steve and Ennis but otherwise hadn’t acted as if anything was amiss. Nick keeps thinking about how Sam said people didn’t care about what he thought of them. Sam’s opinions are important to a lot of people. Nick sees it all the time, especially when Sam’s friends sit with them. They’ll stop what they’re saying to ask, ‘Isn’t that right, Sam?’ or probe for his opinion before giving their own mind. Sam’s too diplomatic to show strong opinions, but his friends want his confirmation that they’re on the right track. </p><p>And Sam has no idea.</p><p>“Nick?” Chuck asks in surprise. Nick’s calls are few and far between.</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“Are you alright? You sound troubled, Nicky bug. Do you need to come home for a detox? I don’t have an empty room at the moment, but you can take mine. I don’t mind crashing on the couch.”</p><p>Despite himself, Nick smiles. “No, I’m still clean. No falling off the wagon for me. But thanks… Dad.”</p><p>He hears Chuck’s little hitched breath. A single word can mean so much, and Nick’s got a lousy track record of speaking the right words. </p><p>Or speaking words, period. </p><p>“You’re always welcome home if you need a reprieve. You know that,” Chuck tells him with gentle affection in the afterglow of the precious title Nick’s never bestowed on him before.</p><p>Nick turns his back to lean against the wall, then slides down it with a heavy sigh. “You know, your responsibility for us ran up the day we turned eighteen,” he points out.</p><p>“So they keep telling me when they want to bring in more lost boys, and the house is full. Not really a working argument since I believe every adult is responsible for their own actions,” Chuck muses with dry humor.</p><p>“And that applies how?”</p><p>“You’re adults when you’re eighteen; hence you can choose to move out or stay. And I’m only responsible for deciding whether to throw out someone I love or extend my welcome. It isn’t a choice, really. I want to give you what I didn't have, what you hadn't experienced, but if I put a time limit on it, it would be just another empty promise given by an uncaring adult seeing you as problems to be solved rather than wanting to help you solve your problems.”</p><p>A home. Unwavering support for life. Someone who never gave up on you no matter what. Too many of the orphanages and foster homes Nick had seen before he reached his final destination at Chuck’s saw foster kids as money cows. Many of the places he’d been at had crammed in lots of kids, then kicked them out at eighteen to cram in new ones. Nick hadn’t been lucky with his placements. Not like Michael and Gabe. Nick and Ella had bounced between the worst places, while Gabe and Mikey had mostly been at places where the care was real, but it didn’t work out for other reasons. </p><p>“You did right by us. How did you do it? What’s the secret? I met someone who I believe is like us. I want to do right by him…” Nick makes a frustrated noise and rubs his eyes. </p><p>“You thinking about taking on fosterlings?”</p><p>Nick chokes out a laugh. “No. No, no, no, no, <i>no</i>.” That would be a recipe for disaster. The very idea is hilarious.</p><p>“Are you talking about Sam?”</p><p>“Who ratted? Gabe?”</p><p>“Who else?”</p><p>“Fair enough. Yes. Sam’s this college guy. Claims he’s nineteen, but I don’t believe him. I think he’s younger. He’s… I…” Nick takes a deep breath. “I might be in love with him.”</p><p>“Oh. That’s nice.” Chuck doesn’t hide his trepidation well enough, and it makes Nick smile. Somehow it’s more reassuring than Michael and Gabe’s certainty that everything will work out fine.</p><p>“Yeah. I visited Azazel’s grave this morning. Had a chat. Said my last goodbyes. I don’t want to make the same mistake again. Especially when he’s so young. Even if my instinct is wrong and he really is nineteen.”</p><p>“Is he a drug addict?”</p><p>“No. I don’t think so. But yesterday…” He takes another deep breath to steady himself. “Do you remember the incident I told you about, with that one night stand?” Nick hadn’t actually told Chuck - Michael had. But Nick had been in the room. They had to explain why they came crashing in, wanting to stay over for a few days despite living so close by.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Sam knows her. He’s her fucktoy. And yesterday, she and I had a dispute in his presence. She told him I threw her out and painted it as if it was about sex. He asked me for my version, and I didn’t tell him. It makes me look like a giant ass. But if I tell him I look bad for another reason.”</p><p>“Pride was always your downfall.”</p><p>“So you think I should tell him the truth?”</p><p>“If he’s going to stick around, yes. But it’s your decision.”</p><p>“Mh. I don’t know what to do about him. He… there’s something off about him that I can’t pin down. Part of me wants to say ‘screw it’ and jump in with both feet. My gut feeling is that I should hold back. That he’s better off if we don’t…” Another frustrated noise escapes between his teeth. “If something’s wrong, then I can only screw him up worse. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be like all of ‘them’. But I can’t trust my gut when I’m in love. I get obsessed and blinded.”</p><p>“I think you’re wrong. I’ve never seen your gut feeling be wrong. And if you want my honest opinion?”</p><p>“That’s why I’m calling.”</p><p>“I think that if you want to do right by this boy, and if you want to protect him, you should stick by him, not push him away. It’s not a coincidence that I put you with Michael, and then let Ella bunk with you instead of giving her a room to herself. You’re a protector at heart, and those two needed that. They needed to be protected by you, not <i>from</i> you.” Chuck chuckles humorlessly. “Though you’ve got a few flaws, I’ll admit to that.” Nick’s lip draws up in a lopsided smile at the understatement. “But Michael’s been good at pointing those out when you stumble, hasn’t he?”</p><p>Nick grins. “Always.”</p><p>“Then trust your gut. Holding back doesn’t mean pushing him away.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <tt><b>Steve:</b> About yesterday. Can we talk?</tt>
</p><p>Sam blinks blearily at his phone. He hasn’t slept much. At least his pillow isn’t wet from tears anymore. For a moment, he wonders what Steve wants. Then he feels stupid. Of course, Steve wants what they all want. It might be a welcome distraction. He sends a response.</p><p>He gets out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom to pee, then he brushes his teeth. He’s got pillow wrinkles on his face, dark rings under his red-rimmed eyes, and his cheeks and nose are red still from waiting for Michael in the sun. He sort of hopes the red rims around his eyes won’t give away how much time he spent bawling tonight. He runs a hand through his hair to make it look good, washes his dick, goes to put on a pair of sweats, and then contents himself to make coffee while he waits for Steve.</p><p>He doesn’t have to wait for long. The coffee isn’t even done yet before there’s a knock on the door.</p><p>Sam goes to open. Steve leans heavily against the door frame. He’s drunk, and his eyes are red-rimmed too. He holds a vodka bottle in one hand. “Hey, faggot,” he greets, but there’s no mean emotional inflection in the slur.</p><p>“Hey. That was fast. Come in,” Sam offers to allow Steve to sway inside.</p><p>“Cab,” Steve answers.</p><p>“Alright. You want coffee? It’s almost done.” Sam closes the door behind them.</p><p>“No. You told anyone about me?”</p><p>“Of course not. Steve, can you name a single guy I’ve slept with since we’ve known each other?”</p><p>Steve’s face scrunches up in thought. “No.”</p><p>“Exactly. And I’ve got a very active sex life. That’s not me being a braggart; it’s the plain truth.”</p><p>Steve grunts and takes a swig of his bottle. He offers it to Sam.</p><p>Sam deliberates for a beat, then accepts, takes a swig, and shudders as it goes down. “So that’s why you came? To make sure I won’t talk?” he asks and hands the bottle back. </p><p>“No. I owe you a BJ.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You heard me, fag.”</p><p>“I did, yeah. But you don’t owe me anything. That’s not how it works.”</p><p>Steve makes a sound that might pass as a laugh but sounds more like he’s in pain. He puts the bottle on the small table in the room and walks up to Sam on unsteady legs. “Yeah. It is. I can’t fucking let a bro go down on me without payin’ him the same courtesy. It isn’t right. I give what I get from girls, so a bro shouldn’t be any difference.”</p><p>“Do you <i>want</i> to?”</p><p>“Fuck off. Just drop your pants and let me do my part, and I’ll be out of your hair.”</p><p>“Nu-uh. You know that part where I said I don’t put my mouth where it isn’t wanted? That goes two-ways. I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do either. I wouldn’t enjoy a second of it.”</p><p>Steve runs a hand over his face, uttering another pained laugh. He drops his hands to his sides, fingers hooking in his jeans pockets, tilts his head and gives Sam a tired, bitter smirk. “Dirty fucking fag,” he drones. “Why’d you have to be such a fucking boy-scout. Can’t you just take what’s offered and stop asking questions?”</p><p>That puts a clearer spin on things. Sam steps closer, slowly raising his hand to allow Steve to protest. Steve doesn’t move. Sam hooks his hand around Steve’s neck and leans in to kiss him. He’s half expecting to be pushed away. It doesn’t happen. Instead, Steve reciprocates. It’s careful at first. After all about ten seconds, Steve’s tense, then something shifts, and he’s all heat and desperation.</p><p>He doesn’t talk much. Not until they’re naked, rutting against each other, and he angrily asks, “You gonna fuck my ass, or not?” Sam’s surprised Steve demands to bottom. </p><p>“You sure you want that? You’re drunk. I don’t want to do something you’ll regret when you’re sober.”</p><p>“Dammit, Sam! Just do it already!”</p><p>Afterward, when they’ve both come, Steve lies silently on his belly, watching Sam with a tired expression. </p><p>“You can stay if you want,” Sam says.</p><p>Steve grunts noncommittally and doesn’t move. Sam flips over to his side and watches the bruises and marks on Steve’s arms and back. A couple of marks on his back look like belt marks. Sam reaches out and traces a finger over them. Steve closes his eyes. “BDSM?” Sam asks.</p><p>“Dad,” Steve answers.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Can’t wait to move out for good.”</p><p>“So why don’t you?”</p><p>“He's paying for college. I want my degree, but I’m too dumb to get a scholarship.”</p><p>Sam doesn’t know what to answer to that. Instead, he keeps silent and trails his fingers over the skin on Steve’s back, watching the goosebumps that form in their wake. “You want coffee?”</p><p>“Mh.”</p><p>Sam gets up, pours them a cup of coffee each, and comes back to bed. Steve flips over and moves to sit against the wall. He takes the cup with a mumbled ‘thanks’, and Sam takes a seat beside him, side-eying his torso to study the bruises on his front. He’d seen them while they had sex too, but it wasn’t the right time to mention them. He takes a sip of coffee. “Want to talk about it?”</p><p>Steve sips his coffee and stares at the ugly, faded yellow picture of flowers on the motel wall. “Did you mean what you said yesterday?”</p><p>“What part?”</p><p>“That being an ass doesn’t strike you as my default?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His gaze wanders over the room disinterestedly, avoiding to look at Sam. “I don’t even like girls. Talking to them, sure. But not…”</p><p>“Not sexually.”</p><p>Steve shakes his head. “Sometimes it feels like it’s all he ever talks about. How much pussy I’m getting. Or that this or that chick has a nice rack. Or how women should know their place and all kinds of sexist bullshit. He hates fags with a vengeance. He’d kill me. He actually might kill me if he knew. ...Funny thing is, if I act like him, it’s so much harder to get laid. So I do.” He snorts in amusement. “But I have to remind myself to act like him, just like you said.” He sips his coffee, pausing. Sam feels out of his depth, resorting to silence.</p><p>Steve turns his head to look at Sam. “He’d throw me out if he knew I associated with you, and you’re not even gay. You’re <i>bi</i>.”</p><p>“I’ve told you, I won’t tell anyone. And should we ever run into your dad while we’re out, I’ll act completely straight,” Sam assures.</p><p>“Your dad ever beat you up?”</p><p>“Only once.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Mhm. When I showed him my first acceptance letter for college. He called me ungrateful. Said I was abandoning the family.”</p><p>“Oh, I know all about the ‘ungrateful’ schtick. I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding his ire, but sometimes I fail.” Steve gestures at his bruises. “I hate him so damned much. I keep thinking that I just have to put up with it a few more years. Then I’ll have my degree and can fuck the hell off.”</p><p>“What about your mom?”</p><p>Steve snorts. “Which one? Dad trades in for a younger version bi-yearly like they were cars. I have no idea where my real mom is. Honestly, I’m not very interested in finding her. She left, and she didn’t take me with her. I hate her too. Or maybe not. I just don’t think of her anymore. She could be dead like yours, and I wouldn’t give a shit.”</p><p>It hurts inside of Sam, thinking what it must be like at home for Steve. To live a lie and fear violence for showing who he really is. He doesn’t have any siblings. He must feel so damned lonely. It doesn’t matter that he lives in a fancy house in a good neighborhood. He doesn’t have a big brother to take his side and comfort him. “I’m sorry that your dad treats you like he does.”</p><p>Steve searches his face for sincerity, then nods. “You really are, huh?”</p><p>“Nobody deserves that.”</p><p>Steve looks at the yellowed flower picture on the wall again. “I’m sorry I’ve called you slurs and been a dick.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”</p><p>Steve shakes his head. “You should.” Another sip of coffee, then “It scares the shit outta me. What I am. I think you’re so fucking brave to be open about it. People are assholes. You could get your ass kicked as easily as you get harassed.”</p><p>“Shit happens. There’s nothing wrong with liking guys.”</p><p>With a little more humor, Steve chuckles, mumbles ‘shit happens’ with a grin, and shakes his head. “How many guys have you been with?” he asks, shifting the topic.</p><p>“Many.”</p><p>“And girls?”</p><p>“Three.” <i>No, wait. Five? But I can’t tell him about the guests at Zachariah’s.</i></p><p>“Jess, Sarah, and Claire?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Steve turns his head and scrutinizes him with a troubled frown. “And not a single guy has wanted you to tell?”</p><p>Sam thinks that Benny might have tolerated it being known. He wasn’t out per se, but he wasn’t in either. “No, not really. But it’s okay. I’m used to being the dirty secret.”</p><p>“That’s fucked up, bro.”</p><p>“I don’t mind. As long as nobody tries to keep me from being open about who <i>I</i> am.” Not that he’s clear on who he is, but he knows that he’s bi, so it’s become a precious piece for him to hold onto.</p><p>“It isn’t right.”</p><p>“Well, like you just explained, telling might put them in danger. Being out should be their choice, not a choice made for them by others.” He’s moderating his answers to fit what he thinks would work on a normal closet case―not a whore like himself.</p><p>Steve stares at him but seems distant, thoughts far off. “And if they told anyone they’d slept with you? You’d get mad?”</p><p>“No.” Sam chuckles in amusement. “Not that it’ll ever happen. I’m not exactly one you brag about having slept with.”</p><p>Steve downs the last of his coffee and puts the cup on the nightstand. “Can I stick around ‘til I sober up?” he asks, declaring the talk over by the tone of his voice.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Steve crawls down under the blanket and puts his arm around Sam’s midriff. He lies awake for a long time, lost in thought. Sam finishes his own coffee and joins him under the blanket. Cuddled together, it doesn’t take long to nod off.</p>
<hr/><p>On Monday, Michael texts him, asking to have a late lunch with him. Sam goes to the place they’d met the last time. When he spots Michael, his eyes bulge in shock. “Uh… You’ve got something on your face,” he says and eyes Michael dubiously.</p><p>Michael sniggers. “You don’t say?”</p><p>“No, seriously. What’s up with the glitter?” Sam asks. Michael is covered with it. It looks like someone has used glittery body paint, turning half his face completely golden, while his other side is only partly covered. He’s got silver glitter on his clothes too, but his head, hair included, is what makes Sam stare. Sam and every other person passing him.</p><p>“Gabe. Every year on the same date, I have to negotiate my raise. And every year, the little shit does something like this. Tried washing it off, but…” Michael rubs a hand over his gold-glittery face half, then shows his palm to Sam. Only a few sparkles of glitter have come loose to stick to his palm.</p><p>“But <i>why</i>?”</p><p>“It started as revenge for a prank I pulled on him. Don’t even remember what it was. But apparently, Gabe found it funny enough to keep it a tradition. I’ve tried hiding from him. Slept in a hotel one year, and he still found me and made my shoes go ‘<i>baaa</i>’ with every step I took.”</p><p>“Like a sheep?”</p><p>“More like a lamb, but yeah.”</p><p>“Jesus. How did the negotiation go, looking like…” Sam gestures vaguely at Michael’s face.</p><p>Michael grins proudly. “Fantastic. Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you about it.”</p><p>Oddly enough, Michael’s confidence seems vastly boosted despite all the glitter. When they enter the restaurant, he holds out his arms to the sides and slowly twirls for the serving staff so they can have a laugh. This is his regular lunch joint, and he graciously accepts the joke on his behalf. In return, their waitress declares that their meals are on the house. Sam hears them talk about neon clothes and a briefcase full of edible confetti. Gabe’s yearly prank is something the people here look forward to every year.</p><p>“Shit, Michael. Aren’t you mortified to go to work and have important meetings with these things going on?” Sam asks when they’re finally left alone.</p><p>“I’m terrified. The results have been varied, but this year, it was even worse because I had a meeting with a big, potential client before I had my negotiation. We could have lost them because of this bullshit.”</p><p>“So what happened?”</p><p>“As you can imagine, they looked at me like, ‘What the actual fuck?’ when I walked in. I pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary, shaking hands and introducing myself. Then we sat down to go through their finances. It was vaguely hilarious because they tried to discreetly brush the glitter off their hands and failed. Anyway, they didn’t say anything, to begin with, but then one of them went, ‘Is this a joke? Are you really expecting us to take you seriously?’ And I went ‘Judging by your books, you’re not in the habit of taking things seriously. But if your numbers were as golden as I am now, we wouldn’t need to have this meeting. And I may not be good at avoiding my prankster brother, but when it comes to accounting, I shine. With, or without glitter.’” Michael grins from ear to ear. “One of them cracked up laughing, and the other resorted to listening to what I had to say. In the end, we got the account, so I was riding a confidence high when it was time to negotiate my pay. I managed to talk my way to a substantial raise. I feel god damned invincible right now!”</p><p>Sam laughs. “Congratulations.”</p><p>“Thanks. It was worth the panic attack I had this morning. Gabe will be insufferable, though.”</p><p>“Isn’t that what brothers are for?” Sam jokes, and Michael sniggers his agreement. “How did your date go? I noticed you kissed him before I went home.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, um. Good. It went well, but… Chad isn’t really my type.”</p><p>“Too pretentious?”</p><p>“Heh. Yes. You noticed that, too, huh?”</p><p>Sam nods. </p><p>“Mh. Well, we did have a roll in the hay,” Michael goes on. “But I don’t think we'll go on any more dates. Not unless he's up for booty calls. He’s very keen on correcting people’s opinions. He used ‘actually’ way too many times, and then he explained to me how classical music was the only true art when it comes to music. I kept thinking of how you read lyrics as poetry, and he said that modern music was shallow and lacked feeling. That lyrics detracted from the experience of music.”</p><p>“Wow. That’s kind of a dick statement to a singer.”</p><p>Michael shrugs. “He's entitled to his opinions. The problem is that he isn’t so generous about letting other people be entitled to theirs. I still count it as a win, though. Asking anyone out is hard. Unlike picking up chicks after a gig. I've got stage fright, but once I'm <i>on</i> stage, it's alright. I don’t know if you've noticed how we start without looking at the audience?”</p><p>Sam nods. </p><p>“Mh. That’s for my benefit. I want to start singing before I look at the audience, or I might lose my nerve. I choked up the first time. Luckily Nick and Gabe saved my ass, singing my parts until I got myself in check.”</p><p>“How old were you?”</p><p>“Oh, that was last year. We've only just begun performing for the public. We played at Club Cobra at first, then at The Dutch Man. But then we found those places to be too small. The owner of The Anchor was out with friends, saw us play, and offered us this summer gig. It’s perfect, really.”</p><p>“I'm grateful,”  Sam says with a cheeky smile. </p><p>“So am I.” Michael’s responding smile makes it a personal compliment.</p><p>They get their food, and for a while, hunger kills conversation. But after they've eaten, Michael (ridiculously golden) asks him, “Can I ask you what happened this Saturday? One moment everything was fine, and the next…”</p><p>“Claire put her hand on my thigh, Nick gave her a flick with his fingers, and then they were at full war. I didn’t know it, but apparently, they’ve slept together.”</p><p>“Oh? I didn’t know that either. But then again, he’s pretty big on one night stands when he’s single.”</p><p>“Yeah, well. Apparently, he bodily threw her out afterward. Naked.”</p><p>Michael’s face turns dark. “That was Claire? Wow. I must commend him on his restraint then. Had I known it was her, she wouldn’t have been welcome at our table.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“He didn’t tell you?” Michael makes an annoyed and frustrated face. “She did something exceedingly disrespectful towards him. I’d like to tell you. Believe me, I do. But it’s personal on a level that requires me to ask for his permission to share it. Trust me, though. Nick might be an ass, but not in that way. He’s not one to throw people out once he’s slept with them.”</p><p>Sam’s buzzing with curiosity. He <i>wants</i> to badger Michael to give up the reason. At the same time, he knows how important it is to keep other people’s secrets. And if Michael says Claire wouldn’t have been welcome at their table if he knew it was her… Michael’s so welcoming towards everybody. It doesn’t put Claire in a good light.</p><p>“He said, um. When we were sitting at the table. Claire said he’d fuck me over, and he said that he saved that kind of treatment for the lowest of the low, like whores like her.” Sam’s heart is speeding up nervously. He searches for the right words not to compromise himself too much. Michael’s waiting, listening attentively. There’s glitter on the tablecloth where his hands have rested. “I asked him if he’d bought sex from her, and he said no, he’d just said the most insulting thing he could think of…”</p><p>“Uhuh?” Michael encourages when Sam stalls.</p><p>“Someone close at heart to me occasionally trades sexual favors for money or other necessities. And I’d like to think that person is good, and worthy of…” Sam stalls again, afraid his voice will wobble. Worthy of what?</p><p>
  <i>Nothing.</i>
</p><p>“That’s why you left the table so quickly? You know a prostitute and didn’t like hearing them being talked badly of?”</p><p>Sam nods and takes a sip of his drink, feeling vulnerable in the wake of his not-quite-confession.</p><p>“Mh. In that case, rest assured that Nick doesn’t look down on prostitutes. None of us do. What he does have is a knack for finding the insult that will hurt the most. If someone’s on his shit list, he’ll hold up a warped mirror that doesn’t reflect his opinions, but the person he’s insulting. If he’d called Claire what <i>he</i> thought of her, she’d shrugged it off. He got even better at it after college since dad required all of us to read at least one psychology class for self-help purposes. If you want to know his real opinions on anything, you shouldn’t listen to him when he’s in the midst of a hostile conflict. Pufferfish, remember?”</p><p>“So what’s your opinion?”</p><p>Michael shrugs. “If they sell sex because they own their sexuality and like what they do, good for them. But too many who turn to prostitution are either forced into it, come from backgrounds of sexual abuse, or do it as a last resort to survive. Not to mention how many with addiction problems end up in prostitution. It’s a dangerous profession. I hope your friend is careful.”</p><p>“Would you be friends with a whore?”</p><p>“Yes. Why wouldn’t I? We’re not our professions. If I like her personality, I’d be friends with her. I’d worry about her, though.”</p><p>Sam finds himself relaxing, gut unclenching. Instead, his curiosity is piqued. “Would you consider paying for sex? Not implying that you need to. I’m just curious.”</p><p>“In theory, I suppose…” Michael purses his lips in thought. “It’s not that big of a difference than paying for a full date, is it? Not that I know what it costs. But in real life, I don’t think I would, because of the consent issues.”</p><p>“What consent issues?”</p><p>“If she’s desperate for money, she might say yes when she really doesn’t want to. The idea of having sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with me creeps me out.”</p><p>“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to have sex with you.”</p><p>Michael throws his head back laughing. “Wow. Thank you, but today I don’t actually need my ego boosted more than it is,” he sniggers with a big grin.</p><p>“I’m not sucking up. Look. You’re hot, glitter notwithstanding. You’re really nice, funny, caring, and talented. Why would anyone say no to that?”</p><p>Michael bends his head and grins at the table, twisting his glass round and round with a hand. The side of his face that isn’t covered with glitter is blushing furiously. “Thanks…” he mumbles. He looks up and draws breath as if to say something, but stops himself and looks down again with a smile, shaking his head to himself. </p><p>“Did I just make things awkward?”</p><p>“No. No, I just… you’re baiting me to be inappropriate. Let’s talk about something else. So how ‘bout them Yankees, huh?” Michael answers and looks up again, mischief glittering in his eyes.</p><p>“I dunno. I’m not really into hockey,” Sam jokes innocently, making Michael laugh again.</p><p>A little while later, they part. Sam gets a goodbye hug (possibly to make sure Sam too will glitter) and an invitation to hang out again soon. He feels a whole lot better about what happened with Nick and Claire. Most importantly, he wouldn’t lose Michael’s friendship if word got out about what he is.</p>
<hr/><p>Coincidence. Nick had gotten off work and headed to Michael’s office to see what Gabe pulled on him this year. He hadn’t expected to see Michael and Sam hugging outside of Michael’s office. It’s a warm, personal, and waaaay too long hug for his jealous mind.</p><p>
  <i>Since when did they get so chummy?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Fuck.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>I’m blowing my chances, and Mikey’s picking up the pieces.</i>
</p><p>Both Michael and Sam are smiling broadly when they part. Mikey makes the universal ‘call me’ gesture at Sam before he heads inside.</p><p>Nick drums restlessly on the tank of his motorbike and follows Sam with his gaze.</p><p>
  <i>Have they slept together?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>No. Don’t go there. That’s none of your fucking business, and you know that. As long as none of them declares they’re officially dating Sam’s fair game. Double fuck.</i>
</p><p>He’s expecting Sam to get into a vehicle, but he just keeps walking.</p><p>
  <i>Maybe he’s heading home? If I follow him...</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Stop it. This is how you get in trouble.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Hey, I just want to know where he lives—nothing else. I’ll leave as soon as I know. I’m not stalking him.</i>
</p><p>It’s always so much easier to talk himself into doing stupid shit than to talk himself out of it. He starts his bike and follows. It’s not like Sam would recognize him with his helmet on and from a distance. A couple of blocks later, Sam’s on his phone. It’s not a long conversation, but it seems to be a good one. Nick wonders how far Sam’s going to walk. It’s a nice enough day, but he’s walking further than most people would choose to walk when there are buses and cabs available.</p><p>Not much further, it turns out. Sam crosses the street, then the parking lot outside of the Blue Lotus Motel. He walks to door number 14 and unlocks it, then heads inside. Nick parks his bike across the street to deliberate what to do. What he wants to do is stroll right over and knock on the door. A voice of reason in his head tells him, ‘That would be a horrible breach of privacy and could be conceived as a threat.’ The voice sounds awfully lot like Michael. </p><p>
  <i>Why not call him and ask if I can come over? That's what Michael would have done. If Sam doesn't want me to know where he lives, he'll say no.</i>
</p><p>He's making things more complicated than they have to be. Like the jealousy and wondering if Sam and Michael are sleeping together. And he could just have stopped beside Sam on the street and offered him a ride. </p><p>It's easy to be smart in hindsight. </p><p>He takes off his helmet, digs up his phone, and makes a call.</p><p>Michael picks up on the second ring. “Nick. S’up?” he chirps. </p><p>“Are you sleeping with Sam?”</p><p>“Yes, hello to you too,” Michael answers dryly. Nick can practically hear the fed-up eye roll.</p><p>“Yes or no.”</p><p>“No. We're just friends.”</p><p>“I saw you hugging and it looked more than <i>just</i> friendly, golden boy.”</p><p>“You saw― You're in the neighborhood? Why don't you come on up?”</p><p>“That was the plan.”</p><p>“<i>But…?</i>”</p><p>“I accidentally did the thing I do,” Nick admits ruefully. He can see Sam move around in his room through the single window.</p><p>Michael groans. There's a thud, probably caused by Mikey headdesking. “Goddammit, Nick!”</p><p>“I know. That’s why I’m calling. For you to talk me out of making the ‘Oops’ into a ‘<i>Yikes!</i>’. Now, do your hoodoo on me.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you’re the reason I’m a functioning adult, Nick. For God’s sake! You don’t just accidentally stalk someone. We’ve talked about this. <i>At length.</i>”</p><p>“Don’t be a bitch. And you didn’t answer my first question. Are you fucking? Should I back off and resign myself to silent loathing?”</p><p>“<i>No.</i> And I did answer that! We are fast becoming very good friends. At least, that’s how it is for me. I have no designs on making it more than that. But you know what? You don’t have to back off since you’re all but running in the opposite direction. At this point, I wouldn’t even feel bad if something <i>did</i> happen between Sam and me, because all you’ve done so far is hurt him. And he’s a really good guy who deserves better. I know you. I know you’re <i>a lot</i> better than this. So if you could just get through that giant obstacle course that goes for a brain inside that thick skull of yours, you know exactly what you need to do, to do things right.”</p><p>“I should call him and ask to meet up. Apologize for my behavior.”</p><p>“He told me what happened. I’m really glad you didn’t tell me that Claire was the bitch from last year, or you might have had to bail me out for assault. I’m seething just thinking about her.”</p><p>“That’s a good enough reason not to tell, don’t you think?” Michael isn’t a violent man. Claire had made a mistake that Nick can see why it wasn’t such a big deal to <i>her</i> since he’s been in her situation. Michael’s looking at the bigger picture veiled by the angst and protectiveness of a brother, stemming from an outsider’s point of view.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Did you tell him why I kicked her out?”</p><p>“No. I wanted to. But I wouldn’t tell without your permission. Another thing. One of your insults towards her hit Sam personally. You might want to be aware of that.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yes. Apparently, someone close to his heart is a prostitute. And you said some unsavory things about whores.”</p><p>Nick scrunches up his face in annoyed frustration. “Fuck sake. That’s why he was a prissy little bitch about it?”</p><p>“Yes. So you might want to put his mind at ease.”</p><p>“You didn’t tell him I don’t give a shit about those things?”</p><p>“I’m not your mouthpiece, Nicky. I’m not going to help you pass notes and spit shine your image. I think you’re a catch once you let someone in, but you’ve got to open up and show him who you are. I’m done excusing people’s wrongdoings for them.” </p><p>“Now see, this is what Jocelyn was talking about. I don’t know why she thought being codependent was a bad thing. You need a combustion engine to get you going, and I need brakes that work.” Jocelyn was a woman Michael had dated a few times, who broke it off because she couldn’t deal with Nick and Michael’s lives being so interwoven with each other’s. She’d called them codependent, which was probably true. But at no point in time had that been a negative thing for either of them.</p><p>“Mh. So I’m hitting the breaks for you. What are you going to do?”</p><p>“Call him. See if he lets me come over to talk.”</p><p>“And if he won’t?”</p><p>“I’ll leave.”</p><p>“No. First you’ll call me back and tell me how it went. And if he said no, you’ll come straight to my office so you won’t be tempted to stick around.”</p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>He hangs up and finds Sam’s number. A cab drives into the parking lot and stops outside Sam’s room. Nick hovers his finger over the call button, watching. Steve gets out of the taxi carrying a backpack. He knocks on Sam’s door. Sam opens and lets him in with a cheerful smile, then closes the door behind them.</p><p>
  <i>Having a friend over. Maybe I should call anyway? He might have time to see me later tonight?</i>
</p><p>He sees Steve put his backpack on the little table through the window, chatting away in good humor. Sam comes into view laughing, then Sam traps Steve against the table, kissing him.</p><p>“Fuck sake! <i>Steve</i>? Really?” Nick complains with frustrated annoyance. He’d liked Steve well enough, and now he wants to ram his fist through Steve’s face. </p><p><i>Jealousy and possessiveness are perfectly normal. It’s acting on it that separates ‘them’ from us,</i> the Michael-voice in his head reminds him before he can follow up on the impulse to go and crash Sam’s party uninvited.</p><p>He calls Michael. “I’m on my way to you,” he states darkly and hangs up. Then he pockets his phone, puts his helmet back on, and drives off.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For once, Chuck's a good dad. ;) He still likes to rewrite endings. ^^</p><p>Oh, for any non-Americans that didn't get the joke: The Yankees is a baseball team, which Sam is well aware of. That's what makes it a joke when he says he isn't into Hockey.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. CLAIRE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam and Steve become closer. Nick gathers the courage to call Sam.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>“Um… just to make things clear. The sex thing is just casual, alright?” Sam clarifies as they lie panting in the afterglow.<p>“Yeah, no. It’s cool. It’s not like I don’t know you’re pining your ass off over ‘<i>Lucifer</i>’,” Steve grins at him.</p><p>“That obvious, huh?”</p><p>Steve laughs out loud. “Oh <i>man</i>. You’re joking, right? You’re not exactly making a secret of it.”</p><p>Sam sighs and rolls over onto his side, putting a leg over Steve’s midriff. “He’s a dick.”</p><p>“I like him. He strikes me as a good guy.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. I don’t know him very well, but yeah. Plus, you know what they say, ‘you want to know the character of someone, look at the people they surround themselves with.’ Michael and Gabe are cool. Nick’s the same, just with a fouler mouth.”</p><p>“I think the original quote was something like ‘The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler is to look at the men he has around him,’ though I get your point. Michael is a really good guy. I haven’t spent any time with Gabe outside the pub yet. He sort of terrifies me with his pranks. But Nick…” Steve’s got a dusting of hair on his chest, and Sam runs his fingers over it. Sam’s stopped shaving his belly and chest just to note that he, too, had gotten more hair. Not much. A little between his pecs and a happy trail that’s broader and more determined than it was last time he let it grow. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. He’s doing exactly <i>nothing</i> to encourage it, yet I get butterflies and feel nervous and bumbling when he’s around.”</p><p>“You've never been in love before?”</p><p>“No. I’m not even sure that's what it is.”</p><p>Steve curves his arm around Sam’s back, a big grin on his face. “It sure as hell looks like you have the biggest crush on him. And it's fucking bullshit that he doesn't encourage you. He devotes, like, a third of his stage-time to flirt with you, and then keeps track of everything you do and say afterward.”</p><p>“You think he likes me?”</p><p>“Hell yeah. You know I've been going to the Anchor since before they started playing there? I've seen how he is with women. He’s a smooth fucker. But with you, he's acting like a tool. Typical for someone with a crush. You care too much about what the person thinks of you, so you keep putting your foot in your mouth, and it sucks. Believe me, I have crushes all the time.”</p><p>Michael has assured him Nick likes him often enough, but it still feels good hearing it from someone else too. To be able to talk about it. “He says he doesn’t care what I think of him.”</p><p>“He's lying his ass off.”</p><p>“But why?”</p><p>Steve laughs again. “You ask that as if you don’t know the answer.”</p><p>“I don’t.”</p><p>“Unbelievable. You’re serious?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Huh. Yeah, okay. You don’t just admit to people that what they say can hurt you.”</p><p>“But if they don’t know you care what they think, they might say something hurtful without realizing it.”</p><p>Steve looks like he’s about to laugh again. Eyes glittering and lips twitching. “You’re like the embodiment of the expression ‘sweet cinnamon roll, too pure for this world’, you know that?”</p><p>Sam had been looking at him, but now he angles his face down. “I’m a bit slow sometimes. I know.”</p><p>“No, that’s not it. There’s just no malice in you, so you forget that everyone else isn’t like you. Alright, <i>phew</i>, oh boy, I’m talking about this. Right. I’m scared shitless of dad. If he knew that, he’d be worse. I pretend I don’t care when he says something mean, and since he says it to put me in my place, and it seems like it doesn’t work, he doesn’t push it. Maybe Nick’s gotten the crap beat out of him or been bullied or something, and learned this? There are some mean-ass motherfuckers out there, and you don’t always see them coming from behind their polished exteriors and fake smiles. You show them you care; they won’t just hurt you, you’ll lose your pride too. And then what have you got, if you’ve got nothing else?”</p><p>Sam tilts his head up to watch Steve thoughtfully for a beat. “You really that scared of your dad?”</p><p>Steve nods. “Don’t tell anyone.”</p><p>“I won’t. You know that.”</p><p>Steve smiles and strokes Sam over his hair. “Yeah. I do. I trust you. Feels damned good to have someone I can be honest with for a change. Ennis knows dad beats me sometimes. I’ve known Ennis since second grade. It’s been unavoidable. But he doesn’t know I’m a fag. Nobody does.”</p><p>“<i>Gay</i>,” Sam corrects. “And why not? He’d be cool with it.”</p><p>Steve takes a deep breath and looks at the cracks in the ceiling. “Maybe… maybe not. I’ve had fights with dad about him. Dad didn’t like me being friends with a nigger - his word, not mine. Ennis is awesome, but we’re not always on the same wavelength.”</p><p>“I thought you were best friends?”</p><p>“Nah. Friends, yes. But he’s a bit too ready to laugh at me when something humiliating happens. Can’t really put my guard down. He’s not mean or anything, just…” Steve shakes his head. “Anyway. You wanna hit the gym?”</p><p>Sam balks at the quick topic change. “What? <i>Now?</i>”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Feels good, working out. Abs like these don’t come for free, you know?” Steve grins and slaps his stomach. </p><p>Sam giggles. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a book nerd?”</p><p>“Yeah, I have. So?” Still with the shit-eating grin. “Come on. We’ll hit the gym, then pick up some brewskies and go to the beach to check out hot chicks.”</p><p>Sam laughs. “You said you don’t like girls.”</p><p>“Hot chicks have hot boyfriends,” Steve concludes with a wink.</p><p>“I’ve never been to a gym. I don’t know how all the machines work.”</p><p>“I’ll show you.”</p><p>“Okay…”</p><p>Sam doesn’t know how he got roped into it. He’s never been interested in working out. But somehow, he finds himself entering Planet Fitness as the free guest on Steve’s Black Card membership, and… ...discovers he likes it. Steve encourages, helps, and jeers, making Sam push himself harder. When they leave, he’s thoroughly beat but also feels refreshed. </p><p>“You’ve got good stamina for a book nerd,” Steve remarks.</p><p>“Comes from all the riding I’ve done.”</p><p>Steve chokes on spittle and bursts out laughing. Sam laughs along. It isn’t a lie, though. His fitness comes from sex. It’s the hard truth. </p><p>Planet Fitness is located just a block down from his motel. Sam’s tempted to pay for a membership and make it part of his daily routine.</p><p>Once on the beach, they sit in silent contentment, sipping cool beers and watching people. Steve’s got his Oakleys on and watches a girls-vs-guys beach polo game not far off. “That black-haired guy has a great ass,” he remarks quietly as if he’s afraid anyone but Sam would hear him, despite nobody being close enough.</p><p>“He does. But I like the redhead more. Look at his shoulders. Just, wow.”</p><p>Steve grins and side-eyes Sam from behind his sunglasses, eyes twinkling like he’s just won a grand prize.</p><p>But then again, he has, hasn’t he? If he’s out to nobody but Sam, he’s never been able to make comments such as these about what he likes. </p><p>“You into redheads?”</p><p>“I don’t have preferences like that. I’m into pretty much everyone or no one if you don’t count Nick.”</p><p>Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I feel ya. The pains of having a crush.”</p><p>“He says I’m too young for him.”</p><p>“Huh.” Steve takes a swig of his beer with a faint frown. “Better that, than the opposite.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Hey, look. I don’t think he’s too old for you or anything. But generally, I’m not a fan of big age gaps. There’s not enough common ground. Like, life experience and shit like that. So don’t get me wrong. I’m rooting for you. I am. It’s just that dad put me off on the whole thing about dating younger people.”</p><p>“Why’s that?”</p><p>“You know my dad is well off. He’s a smooth fucker, right? Really good at sweet-talking the ladies and get the interest of younger women that fall for his sophisticated bullshit. Like his current girlfriend. She’s 24. Only three years older than me, and I think it’s disgusting. He just wants a nice young pussy that he can show off. But they don’t get that. They buy his bullshit because they haven’t stepped in that trap before. If Nick has qualms about it, at least he’s thinking about these things. From the right point of view, not from my dad’s angle. It’s not like he isn’t interested in you. But this is just me speculating.”</p><p>“Your current stepmom is only 24?”</p><p>“Yeah. I hate that bitch. She’s trying to <i>mom</i> me. Like she had any authority. Ugh.”</p><p>“Don’t you feel sorry for her if your dad takes advantage of her?”</p><p>Steve shakes his head. “No way. If you’d met her, neither would you. Believe me.”</p><p>Sam’s a bit skeptical.</p><p>Apparently, it shows on his face because Steve makes a half roll with his eyes and then turns his head fully towards Sam with a discontent expression. “Look. Dad does this whole seduction routine where he dazzles them and convinces them he loves them, a’ight? He’ll talk about marriage and kids and the whole shebang, but he doesn’t want any more kids, and he won’t marry them because <i>he</i> knows he’ll trade them for a younger, better model soon enough, and he doesn’t want to pay the alimony a divorce would bring. That’s shitty. But while they’re with him, they’re living the high life. He buys them clothes and jewelry and all kinds of shit chicks dig. They’ve got it made. And the chicks dad dates they’re fucked in the head. He knows how to pick ‘em. They all share his views and try to impress him by being extra vocal about those views. Which means most of them are racist, bigoted shitheads. Then they try to appear older and more mature than they are by stepping into a mother’s role. It pisses me off. Like Cherry, my dad’s current. This morning she was all like, ‘Stephen Jr. Your room's a mess. You can’t go out before you’ve cleaned it up.’ Like I’m not a fucking adult. So I tell her to fuck off, and she’s all ‘Wait until your father hears how you treated me!’ <i>Ugh.</i>”</p><p>“Ouch.”</p><p>“Yeah. She’s a real bitch that way. She’s worse than the two before her, possibly because she’s younger. I don’t know.”</p><p>“You ever need to vent, just give me a call.”</p><p>Steve gives him a lopsided smirk. “Thanks. Speaking of calling, you and Nick traded phone numbers?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Have you called him?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Steve sniggers. “Chicken.”</p><p>“Hey, I don’t know if he’d like me to, with all the back and forth he’s doing. I don’t want to be too pushy.”</p><p>“<i>Pock, pock, pock,</i>” Steve taunts goodnaturedly.</p><p>Sam smiles and scrapes with a fingernail on his knee. “Maybe I should call him… you think I should?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“You’re really okay with us only being casual, huh?”</p><p>“Said I was, didn’t I? I’m happy to get laid. Who wouldn’t be? But it’s not like I’m after a relationship or anything.”</p><p>“Had you been with a guy before me?” Sam lowers his voice for Steve’s benefit.</p><p>“No. That wasn’t obvious?”</p><p>Sam shakes his head. “No.”</p><p>Steve chooses to take it as a compliment, looking mightily proud of himself. “Thanks. And don’t worry, bro. We stop screwing around when you don’t feel like it anymore. We can still share a few brewskies and have some fun, right?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>They toast on it. Sam feels a lot more relaxed about fooling around with Steve now. The last thing he needs is to lose another friend in a new Brady-situation.</p>
<hr/><p>On his way home, he receives a text from Uriel. </p><p>
  <tt><b>Uriel:</b> Your tests came back clean. No STDs. I'll send you the results tomorrow. And I sincerely hope you don't have use for this warning, but avoid working on Harbour street and outside The Pink Whale Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday this week. We’re doing raids. </tt>
</p><p>The content of the text is so surprising he has to stop and stare at it. He has no idea where The Pink Whale is. Not that it matters. An officer of the law just warned him about places the cops would bust down on prostitution. That feels big somehow. And he's really glad he came in clean.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Thank you, Sir. I haven’t worked since I last saw you. But I still appreciate the gesture. </tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Uriel:</b> Good. I'm glad to hear. If you never work again, it would make me even happier. </tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Duly noted, Sir.</tt>
</p><p>Frankly, he's warmed by the warning. Highly inappropriate as it is, Uriel had taken a young prostitute to heart and decided to protect him to an extent. There's only so much Uriel can do, but Sam finds it honorable. </p><p>And the way things have developed with Steve makes him <i>really</i> happy. He'd offered to blow Steve, not because he wanted it, but because he thought Steve wanted it. While he'd been right, it had also been one of his best decisions lately. Steve, with his mask dropped, isn't a completely different person. He's still somewhat boorish. A frat boy. But he's 90% more decent and people-friendly. He vaguely reminds Sam of Dean. He cuts off ‘chick flick moments’ the same way. Sam really likes him. And it's <i>great</i> to be able to talk about Nick with someone who isn't biased like Michael is. (Or, if Steve's biased, he's on <i>Sam's</i> side.)</p><p>On top of that, when Steve came by today, Sam found himself <i>wanting</i> to have sex. That's rare for him. Steve's enthusiastic and fun in bed but doesn't give him the soft gazes Brady did. The affection he shows isn't adoring in the same way, and it puts Sam at ease. Sam initiated it by trapping Steve against the table. Steve had gone from surprised to ‘Fuck yeah, I'm down for this’ in seconds, yet Sam could feel a clear divide between when they had sex and their other interactions. He likes that. </p><p>He's in a great mood all the way home. But once he gets to the motel, he spots a figure sitting on the ground leaning against his door.</p><p>Coming closer, he sees it's Claire, and she's been crying…</p>
<hr/><p>“I <i>hate</i> him!” Michael exclaims in frustration, rubbing himself raw with the towel. Seven showers this far, and glitter still clung to every part of his body that had been exposed to Gabe while he was sleeping.</p><p>“Be grateful you were sleeping on your belly.”</p><p>“Pfft. No way he would have put glitter on my dick.”</p><p>“Sure he would. With a very long brush,” Nick sniggers. Michael is no longer completely covered. Now it's just a fine dusting of glitter. It looks more deliberate, like when girls put on lotion with glitter in it. “I wouldn’t be too annoyed. It suits you,” he ribs further. </p><p>“Is that so..?” Michael responds with a dangerously low voice. It’s all the warning Nick gets before the flying tackle comes, sending them both tumbling into and vaulting over the back of Michael’s couch, falling off it, landing on the living room table that breaks under the sudden weight with a loud crack. Michael lands on top of him, octopussing to lock him down, rubbing his face and neck against Nick’s stubble to scrub glitter off himself.</p><p>Nick flails and squirms and howls in protest, to no avail. He fucking <b>hates</b> glitter and goes to great lengths to avoid getting fairy herpes on himself. Generally, it can be avoided by following certain rules. A) Never visit a pride parade or a place where exaggeratedly gay guys party. B) <i>Never</i> pick up a chick on New Years. And C) give Gabe the beating of his life and threaten him to the degree that he believes Nick might actually kill him for real if Nick once again wakes up to find that Gabe has covered every inch of Nick’s house in a dusting of glitter that Nick can still fucking find traces of two years down the road.</p><p>Trying to displace Michael without actual violence when he’s like this is impossible. Nick punches him in the side and gets a headbutt in retaliation. Michael―the fucker―just laughs. Nick tries harder to get him off, making the scuffle rougher, rolling over, so Mikey’s underneath. “Oh, come on, Nicky. I wouldn’t be too annoyed. It suits you,” Michael chokes out between laughter, blocking punches and trying to throw his legs up to catch Nick’s throat in a shin scissor. Nick’s trying to hold in his own laughter, wheezing from an elbow in his solar plexus.</p><p>Supposedly, they’re too old for this.</p><p>Supposedly.</p><p>You’re not supposed to throw punches at your brothers when you’re almost thirty, but it’s fucking fun.</p><p>Another roll over the broken living room table lands them both on their sides, bending their heads away and slapping at each other’s faces like little bitches. It’s a miracle that Michael’s towel remains tied around his waist. Nick’s never figured out how he makes the knots hold so well without using super glue or something like that.</p><p>Michael manages to get on top, locking Nick’s arms down crossed over his own throat, putting his weight <i>juuust</i> right to render Nick’s feeble attempts to move useless.</p><p>Here’s a very well kept secret between them - Michael’s the better fighter.</p><p>Nick’s heavier, stronger, more aggressive, and more intimidating.</p><p>But the once timid, conflict-avoiding chicken nugget that is his brother, is, and always was, the better fighter.</p><p>Something Nick got to discover three months into knowing Mikey when he snatched Michael’s walkman from him. It made no sense that he let himself be pushed around in school corridors, ducked his head, and avoided notice as much as possible when there lived a fierce lion inside of him.</p><p>Michael’s giggling above him, grinning like a gold-glittering loon. Nick’s just about to spit curses at him when he spots the blood running along Michael’s ribcage. He goes lax. “Mikey, you’re bleeding.”</p><p>Michael follows his gaze to spot the blood. “Aw, shucks.” He lets go and gets up, then turns around so that Nick can inspect the damage.</p><p>Nick can’t hold back the breathy snigger. “You didn’t feel that happening?”</p><p>“No. How bad is it?”</p><p>“Kodak bad,” he asserts, referencing the old camera commercial for cameras about ‘Kodak moments’ - moments that need to be captured on camera. “Hold on, I gotta take a picture before we patch you back up. Have you gotten a tetanus shot recently?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m good.”</p><p>Grinning, Nick takes a picture with his phone and shows Michael, who giggles too since they’re both idiots, and this is the kind of shit that only should happen when you’re drunk. Mikey’s got a huge wooden splinter from the table lodged in under his skin. It’s not excessively wide, but about as long as Nick’s hand. Fucking lucky it lodged along his back instead of piercing through it. “I’m sending this to Gabe with the caption ‘Mikey got glitter on me. You’re up next.’”</p><p>Michael cackles. “Good idea. Teach that little shit not to be such an ass.”</p><p>“I’m sending one to Chuck too, captioning it ‘Oh, so Michael’s supposed to be the reasonable, level headed brother?’ How the hell don’t you feel shit like that?”</p><p>“Talent. You gonna clean it or not.”</p><p>“Depends. <i>Did</i> you manage to get glitter on me or not?”</p><p>Michael turns around to scrutinize his face, then pulls the corners of his lips down in a sturgeon face and shakes his head slowly, looking far too innocent.</p><p>“Fuck.” Oh well. At least it all provided a good distraction from the temptation to drive over to Sam’s motel room and peek through the window…</p>
<hr/><p>“...what to do? If I don’t have the money by Wednesday, I’ll be kicked out. But they won’t give me an advance at work,” Claire sniffles, sitting on Sam’s bed with a vodka bottle in her lap.</p><p>Sam’s straddling a chair opposite her, arms crossed over the backrest, wondering how the hell this became his problem and immediately feeling guilty for being so selfish. “Can’t you borrow from someone?”</p><p>“I’ve asked <i>everybody</i>, but nobody will help me.”</p><p>
  <i>
    <strike>Maybe there’s a good reason for that, that I don’t know?</strike>
  </i>
</p><p>“What about your parents?”</p><p>Claire shakes her head and bursts into more tears. “Can I stay with you?”</p><p>
  <i>
    <b>
      <strike>NO NO NO</strike>
    </b>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Don’t be a selfish dick.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>We’ve slept together a few times. Does that mean I’m obligated to let her move in?</i>
</p><p>“How much money do you need?”</p><p>“Two thousand.”</p><p>Sam balks. “<i>Two grand?</i> You have to get two grand in two days? Christ. Can’t you find someone looking for a roommate or something and move in with them instead? I don’t know if the motel allows another person living here without paying extra.” He’s got no clue. He’s had nightly guests, and honestly, he doesn’t think they care as long as people keep a low profile. But he doesn’t want to share his room. Not with Claire, at least. That gives him a bad conscience again. </p><p>
  <i>Selfish, selfish, selfish.</i>
</p><p>Claire takes a swig of vodka and shakes her head, sniffling. “I haven’t found anywhere else to live. I’m looking, but… Sam, you <i>have</i> to help me.”</p><p>“Are you good for the money? When you get paid at work, I mean. You said they won’t give you an advance, but…”</p><p>Claire nods and dries tears from under her eyes. Her mascara is all smudged, and it hurts inside Sam to see her so sad. It’s a big deal, risking homelessness. She could, of course, get her own motel room somewhere. There are at least three others that would cost her less than $1500 for a month. But if she’s got an actual apartment here in the city, it’s something you’d want to cling to. A motel is less than ideal. Especially if she’s got furniture and stuff and a life, unlike Sam, who’s been living out of a backpack since he ran away from home. “Okay, um… I’ll lend you the money. I don’t want to risk breaking the rules of the motel by living two here, so. But you’ve got to promise to repay me as soon as you get your salary, okay?”</p><p>“Y-you’d do that?”</p><p>“Well. Yeah. But I need that money back, or I’ll be in trouble myself.”</p><p>Claire puts the cork on her bottle, gets up from the bed, and comes over to hug him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. You’re my freaking hero,” she sniffles, smiling.</p><p>Sam awkwardly hugs back, not really knowing what to say. “It’s gonna be alright. Don’t worry, Claire.”</p><p>Lucky for him, after she’s cleaned her ruined makeup up and gotten the money, she leaves without insisting on sex, so he gets to have his precious privacy to himself. As a bonus, the vodka bottle is still lying, only halfway empty, and Sam’s not tired. It’s 2:30 AM.</p>
<hr/><p>Sam’s not sober when he makes his way to Planet Fitness in the morning. His muscles are sore from working out yesterday, but he’d really enjoyed it. Maybe if he wasn’t still drunk, he wouldn’t have signed up for a Black Card membership, locking him up for $19.99 a month for a year, and gone for the No Commitment membership for $10 a month that can be terminated at any time. But screw it. He can commit. Plus, he’s tired of hearing comments about ‘filling out his frame’. </p><p>He’s gonna fill the hell out of it. </p><p>Plus, there are massage chairs and tanning beds he’s allowed to use as a BL member. He doesn’t care much for the tanning, but the massage chairs look good.</p><p>He's using a weightlifting machine when Steve finds him. “Sam?”</p><p>“The one and only.”</p><p>“Didn’t expect to see a book nerd here at 8 AM in the morning.”</p><p>“Filling out my frame,” Sam huffs, voice strained from the exercise.</p><p>Steve laughs. “Bro, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow if you push yourself too hard.”</p><p>“No problem. There are plenty of exercises you can do while lying down.”</p><p>Another laugh that makes Sam grin in response. “Dude, are you drunk?” Steve asks in baffled amusement.</p><p>“Uhuh. I’m a college kid. Might as well act like it.”</p><p>He gets a good-natured lecture about not working out while drunk or hungover, but Steve’s more in a do-what-I-say mode than do-what-I-do since he himself is hungover.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s 10:30 and finally time for Nick’s lunch break. He finds a secluded place where the noise from the construction site isn’t too overwhelming, unwraps his BLT sandwich, takes a bite out of it, digs up his phone, and calls Sam before he can chicken out. He hopes he won’t wake the guy up.</p><p>Sam picks up on the first ring.</p><p>Or tries to. </p><p>There’s a loud clattering sound, Sam swearing from a distance, somebody laughing, and a seagull cawing in the background. Then some more clatter and rustling noise, and <i>then</i> Sam answers. “Sam Winchester.”</p><p>“Hi, Sammy. It's Nick,” Nick introduces himself, somewhat nervously.</p><p>There’s a moment of stillness with some frantic, muffled whispering as if Sam’s put his hand over the mic. Then, “Nick, who?”</p><p>Nick frowns. Maybe Sam hadn’t saved his number in his contacts. Perhaps he knows lots of Nicks. Nick’s own giant ego wants to think Sam would know him straight away, but okay... “Nick Lynch, from Pub Anchor.”</p><p>“No, I’m sorry, I don’t know any Nick from Pub Anchor. Hey Steve! Do you know anyone named Nick from Pub Anchor? No? But I <i>do</i> know a jerk who calls himself Lucifer. Know of him? He's been a real dick towards me for no reason.”</p><p>Nick rolls his eyes. “Fine. I deserve this.”</p><p>“Yes, you do. Tell me, Nick, do you like me? Like, <i>like</i>-like me? Or, hell, like me at all? Are you just baiting me and laughing your ass off at me behind my back?”</p><p>“What? Of course not. Why would I laugh at you?”</p><p>“I don’t know. But if you are, it isn’t funny. Hold on… Steve, can you put this on for me?”</p><p>“<i>Do it yourself</i>,” Steve answers in the background. </p><p>“I'm <i>trying</i> to. But it's gross and it won’t stop squirming.”</p><p>Nick takes a bite of his BLT and tries to figure out what the hell they’re doing. Sam’s drunk. He gets that. By the sound of it, he's really drunk. Worst case, he’s high.</p><p>“<i>Can’t believe you're this squeamish. It’s not like you have to eat it or something.</i>”</p><p>“Dude. That'd be less gross.”</p><p>“<i>Oh, yeah? Then why don't you?</i>”</p><p>“No incentive. Shit. I dropped it. Where did it go?” There’s some rustling again, Steve sniggering continuously in the background, then, “Hah! Found it!”</p><p>“<i>I’ll give you fifty bucks if you eat it…</i>” Steve baits slyly with heavy mischief in his voice. He, too, sounds less than sober.</p><p>“Fifty bucks?”</p><p>“<i>Mmhmm... …<b>OOOooo!!</b> Holy fuck!</i>” Steve’s all but howling with laughter. “<i>Maaan, that’s gross! Can’t believe you fucking did it, bro!</i>”</p><p>“Fifty bucks. Pay up,” Sam demands.</p><p>“<i>You didn’t chew.</i>”</p><p>“If you wanted me to chew, you should have stated that in advance. I’m a good boy. I know not to use my teeth and to swallow without complaint. Now <i>pay up</i>.”</p><p>Nick shakes his head as Steve’s practically dying of laughter, and Sam says, ‘Thank you’ petulantly, signifying that he got paid.</p><p>“Winchester,” Nick prompts. “What the hell are you doing?”</p><p>“Oh, right. Phone,” Sam states as if he’d forgotten the phone call. “Nick. Yeah, uh, I just swallowed a worm? We’re by the pier. Steve convinced me to go fishing after we’d worked out this morning.”</p><p>“...Worked out?” Nick’s trying not to envision what that might entail.</p><p>“Yeah. Yesterday Steve dragged me along to Planet Fitness. I’d never been to a gym before, and I kinda liked it. So this morning, I cashed up for a Black Card.”</p><p>In the background, Steve tells Sam to stop waving his rod around.</p><p>“And you willingly put a worm in your mouth for fifty bucks?” Nick asks skeptically.</p><p>Sam chuckles. “That’s not all I’d put in my mouth for fifty bucks,” he jokes and giggles at his own joke.</p><p>Nick has a lot of mixed feelings right now. Sam’s ridiculously drunk. This could have been prime entertainment. Except… It’s with a lot of trepidation he speaks. “Sam. I’ve got a question for you, and I want you to answer it with 100% honesty.”</p><p>“I’ll trade you, a question for question. You answer a question of mine honestly, and I’ll answer yours,” Sam coos slyly.</p><p>“Done. Have you taken any drugs right now? Are you high?”</p><p>“What?! <i>No!</i> You shouldn’t do drugs. That stuff is bad for you.” A small pause. “I’d like to try weed sometime, but I’ll have to wait a couple of years,” Sam muses. “When you smoke while your brain’s still developing, you risk getting brain damage like memory loss and stuff, but after 25, it’s mostly harmless. I have enough problems with memory gaps as it is. Or, it’s not a problem, per se,” Sam babbles happily. “Steve, you didn’t put anything in this shit, right? Nick thinks I sound high.”</p><p>“<i>No way, bro. Druggin’ people’s not cool, man.</i>”</p><p>Nick’s respect for Steve goes up several notches straight away. The guy might act like a fuckboy often enough, but aside from seeing Sam kiss him, Nick’s gotten good vibes from the guy.</p><p>“Agreed. Nope. I’m not high. Steve introduced me to <i>tequila</i>,” Sam explains, purring the ‘tequila’ contentedly.</p><p>That explains it. Nick drops his trepidation. “Fair enough. So you don’t do drugs?” Typically Nick would drop someone using like they’re hot, walking away faster than they can blink. He doesn’t think he could do that with Sam, and that would mean shitloads of trouble.</p><p>“Not if I get to decide, no.”</p><p>“There’s always a choice,” Nick points out.</p><p>“<i>Hah!</i> Says you!”</p><p>Nick’s lip pulls up in a corner. “You ate the wrong brownie once, or something?”</p><p>“Or something. And I don’t want to talk about it. The real question is why I’ve been drinking beer when tequila exists?”</p><p>“Asking the important questions, I see,” Nick smirks, but feeling ill at ease about Sam’s previous comments, wondering if he’s been roofied. Since Sam seems distracted enough to happily answer questions despite it’s his turn to ask, Nick rolls with it. “So you’ve had problems with memory loss, huh? In the habit of drinking yourself blackout drunk?”</p><p>“No. Never been blackout drunk. I don’t usually drink much. You know I cut myself off before I get really drunk. Shit, but you guys are a bad influence on me. You’ve gotten me drunker than I’ve ever been before. I put the blame on you and Michael.”</p><p>“How’s that?”</p><p>“Michael, because he puts me on his tab. You, because you make me stick around for too long. …<i>Ooh</i>. My turn to ask! 100% honesty, right?”</p><p>“That was the agreement.”</p><p>“Do you like me? Like, are you attracted to me? Because I think you’re crazy hot. Can’t friggin think straight when you’re around and it’s driving me mad. Are you leading me on when you flirt with me, or is there something there? Am I just imagining it?”</p><p>“<i>Technically, that’s more than one question, Samster,</i>” Steve sniggers in the background.</p><p>“Shut up, Steve. This is important, okay?” Sam scolds his friend.</p><p>Nick’s stupid belly fills with butterflies and delight at Sam’s easy admission. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Yes. I’m attracted to you. And yes, I’m leading you on,” he admits.</p><p>There’s a silence on the other side as Sam tries to process that answer.</p><p>“<i>What did he say?</i>” Steve asks.</p><p>“He says he’s attracted to me and that he’s leading me on. What does that even mean?”</p><p>“<i>Maybe it’s the age thing? Maybe he wants to screw your brains out but won’t because of the age thing?</i>” Steve theorizes, proving himself to be bright, even if that’s just a part of it.</p><p>“Aww, <i>man</i>. That’s not fair! Pick a thing I can influence instead. Nick, I’m <i>not too young</i>.”</p><p>Nick can’t help himself, he sniggers. “Your ID says otherwise,” he teases.</p><p>“Pfft. In that case, my ID is a liar. <i>I</i> think you’re just intimidated by my nine inches.”</p><p>Steve’s once again cracking up in the background.</p><p>“Nine inches, huh?” Nick leers. “Pictures, or I don’t believe you.” He squeezes his eyes shut as soon as the words are out, cursing himself for being so easily baited.</p><p>Sam giggles. “Are you seriously asking for dick pics?”</p><p>“No! Fuck.” Nick lets go of his sandwich to rub the bridge of his nose. If they’d cross that line, they’ll cross the border to phone sex, and if they cross <i>that</i> line, he’ll end up throwing all caution overboard before he knows what’s iffy about Sam. It might have terrible consequences for both of them. He <i>really</i> wants to do right by the guy. Better not start from the wrong angle since Sam lacks the proper inhibitions needed to rein Nick in. “Sam, I called to apologize. I want to explain what happened and why I threw Claire out. I won’t do it while you’re drunk, though. It’s too fucking personal.”</p><p>Sam chuckles. “I wouldn’t be opposed to you sending me dick pics, though.”</p><p>Nick rolls his eyes. “Not happening.”</p><p>“You know, I was gonna call you earlier, but Steve talked me out of it. He said that if I called while tequila-drunk, I’d regret it. Bet you’re the one regretting having called now, huh?”</p><p>“Not particularly, no. My tolerance for drunk rambling is higher than you might suspect. I’m wondering why you’re drunk at 10:45 in the morning, though?”</p><p>“Oh. I was drunk much earlier,” Sam chirps. “Never really sobered up after Claire came by yesterday to borrow money and then forgot her vodka bottle.”</p><p>“You let Claire borrow money?” Nick asks, scrunching his face up in the grimace you make when you see someone take a nasty fall.</p><p>“Yeah. She said she’d repay me when she gets her salary.”</p><p><i>You can’t be that naive, can you?</i> But yes, Sam might just be that naive. Nick wants to tell Sam that he’s never going to see that money again. But Michael keeps reminding him that people can surprise you positively. Maybe Claire is a better bean than Nick thinks she is. He hopes so, for Sam’s sake. “Don’t count on it… you know what? Give me a call when you’ve sobered up and give me a chance to explain to you my beef with Claire, okay?”</p><p>“Will do. You about to hang up?”</p><p>“Mh. I’ve got to finish my lunch and get back to work.”</p><p>“<i>Nooo.</i> I don’t want you to hang up,” Sam whines.</p><p>Nick grins. “I’ll call you later, okay, Dimples?”</p><p>“Okay…” Sam pouts. Yet again, Nick can hear Steve sniggering. He’s jealous. Jealous of Steve who gets to be there and get stupid drunk with Sam, sit on the pier fishing, doing nothing useful, and then perhaps go home and get it on. He tries not to hate Steve for being the lucky one. It’s hard when part of him rages that Sam’s <i><b>his</b></i>. </p><p>“Bye, Sammy.” He hangs up before he can change his mind and calls Michael right away. </p><p>“Mikey, I called him. He was drunk out of his mind and had some really disconcerting things to say. Has he ever mentioned getting roofied to you?”</p><p>“Hello, to you too,” Michael chuckles.</p><p>The rest of his lunch break, he spends dissecting the phone call he’d had with Sam, with Michael.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nothing bad is ever going to come out of Sam's tequila confessions. I promise. &lt;3<br/>Also, I have a soft spot for Steve. If I didn't know what goes on behind the facade I'd probably want to kick his ass more often than not.</p><p>Thank you so much for commenting! &lt;3</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The archangels worry about Sam. Sam gets in trouble.</p>
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</div><tt><b>Sam:</b> It's not technically a dick pic, but I had to defend my honor. Sorry. ...FYI, si I can swallow them both. ;)</tt><p>Nick bites his lip, seething with frustration while he stares at the picture. It's totally a dick pic, only clothed with a pair of Bermuda shorts, and Sam doesn't look even remotely sorry. Steve―the lucky bastard―is most likely the photographer. It's taken from below as if Steve's crouching, angling the camera up to catch not only Sam's crotch but his adorable, drunk grin and sunburnt naked chest too. (Somebody should tell him to use sunscreen. That redness will turn awfully tender.) Sam's holding up a worm in one hand, and his other is gripping a sizable erection, outlined by his shorts. By the look of it, it might de facto be 9 inches as well as having a respectable girth. </p>
<p>"Shoot, big bro, your boyfriend's <i>hung</i>," Gabe chirps, leaning in to take a peek at what got him distracted in the middle of rehearsals. </p>
<p>"He sent a dick pic? I didn't think he would since you told him no," Michael remarks. </p>
<p>Nick gets up and walks to the keyboard to show him the picture. Michael whistles lowly. “Hot <i>damn</i>. That thing's as big as Gabe, and Gabe's the biggest dick I know," he jokes. Gabe cracks up at the joke, but Nick's too distracted by talking himself out of responding with a pic of his own - preferably one taking it one step further, goading Sam into even more compromising pictures. Michael notices that Nick's not paying attention and adds, "That's one mouthwatering piece of junk right there, I'll tell you." </p>
<p>Nick cuffs the back of his head and snatches his phone back. "God, you're such assholes," he mutters to the delight of his brothers, then goes back to the stool he'd been sitting on. He takes one last look at the porn-blog-worthy picture of Sam before pocketing his phone and picking up the guitar again. He strums out the opening chords to '<i>Brazen (weep)</i>' by Skunk Anansie and begins to sing. By the time he reaches the chorus, his asshole brothers have stopped laughing and started playing along. He stands up to sing the chorus to get enough pressure in the words. “<i>...Why don't you weep, when I hurt you? Why don't you weep, when I cut you? You don't bleed, and the anger builds up inside...</i>"</p>
<p>'I care what you think of me,' Sam had said. It's such a weighty admission. Either Sam is very brave or incredibly naive, and currently, Nick's money's on the latter. It worries him. It's a recipe for disaster. If Sam hangs around with people like Claire or worse, something terrible will happen. He can feel it in his gut.</p>
<p>'<i>Worse people, like yourself,</i>' a mean voice whispers in the back of his head.</p>
<p>
  <i>No. That isn't me anymore. And Claire's a victim too. Michael doesn't buy it since he only sees it from the outside, but a few years ago, I might have been the one who suckered a sweet, naive guy like Sam out of his money.</i>
</p>
<p>He's still giving Claire the benefit of the doubt, mostly because he wants to be wrong about her. People that are bad for you aren’t necessarily <i>bad</i> people. Just broken in a way that rips at you instead of fitting in your own cracks.</p>
<p>Michael goes straight from Skunk Anansie to Anouk's '<i> Nobody's wife</i>', another song from Nick's favored playlist. It's unusual that Mikey takes the vocals on this one, and Nick almost wishes he could sit and watch instead of playing because Michael's fucking glorious when he performs this kind of pain-aggression.</p>
<p>Gabe sings the next song. Instead of choosing something whimsical, he must have picked up on Nick's overall mood and ran with it. The song's supposed to lead in with guitar or bass, but Gabe leads with drums, so it takes for Gabe to start singing for Michael and Nick to catch on and join in. It's a song they've never actually played together, but Nick's played the guitar solos alone many times. It's been a long time since he played it. It's been too painful, making him think of Azazel. Now it makes him think of Sam instead.</p>
<p>“<i>...When you get weak, and you need to test your will…</i>" Gabe sings with a voice that's surprisingly well suited for the song―' <i>Change your mind</i>', by Neil Young―and holds enough emotion to remind Nick that their spitfire little brother holds just as much melancholy and painful memories behind his joker facade as the rest of them. It's easy to forget with his over the top ways. He's a smart man. Michael suffers the brunt of his 'friendly' pranks due to a few viciously violent retaliations from Nick's side. Nick knows to hold grudges, unlike Mikey. But Gabe thinks several steps ahead. Like he'd shown up to rehearsals today covered in spray-on glitter, the kind that comes off a lot easier than what he'd painted on Michael. It pretty much guaranteed that Nick wouldn't touch him despite the menacing photo he'd sent of Michael yesterday.</p>
<p>Of course, there are situations when all bets are off, and not even glitter could keep Nick from touching Gabe. Like the time he'd found Gabe huddled into a crying ball in a corner of his studio apartment after not having heard from him for four days. Nick had kicked the door in and pulled Gabe into a comforting, rocking embrace on the floor, despite both the apartment and Gabe being covered with an assortment of yucky, gooey, and sparkling things. That bitch Kali came back every time Gabe got back onto his feet and stomped on his heart and his will to live like it was a game to her. Nick hates her.</p>
<p>At the end of the song, they stop to confer. Michael wants it on the roster, so they discuss who should start and play what when, then play it again, then again, and do some additional tweaking. This had been their salvation. It had saved them. Back in the day, it had been just he and Mikey. Chuck had soundproofed a room when the oldest kids moved out, filled it with a drum set, a guitar, a bass, a keyboard, a microphone, and other small instruments like maracas and a tambourine. Then he'd gotten Michael and Nick from their room when they'd been arguing too loudly and locked them into the music room for an hour. They didn't come out until five hours later. </p>
<p>That's how they got started together. Before, it had been just Michael singing in the shower and other places he didn't think anyone could hear him and Nick playing air drums or guitar to whatever music he was listening to. Gabe got hooked as quickly as they had once he came to Chuck's. Ella never turned to music herself, but she'd hang out, listen to them play, joke, and give them tips and opinions.</p>
<p>Still, more than a decade later, it keeps saving them from sliding into the darkness from whence they came.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sam wakes up in a strange bed. It's one of those big, comfy air mattresses that can hold two people. He's alone on it, but there's snoring coming from closeby. He's got a headache, and every single muscle in his body is sore from working out two days in a row. He's a bit nauseous, but most of all, his bladder feels like it's about to explode.</p>
<p>It takes a couple of seconds for the memory to come back. They'd been fishing and actually caught some fish, then they'd gone home to Steve after Sam promised not to act like a fairy if they ran into Steve's dad or 'mom'. There they'd barbecued the fish for lunch in Steve's yard. After that, they'd gone to town, bar hopping, then back to Steve's to play some mindless video game where you run around and shoot people. They played online, wearing headsets, and Sam had an absolute blast.</p>
<p>He did meet Steve's dad briefly. Stephen Sr. looked remarkably much like his son (or the other way around) and didn't appear to be such a monster at first glance. Sam could see what Steve meant by women falling for his 'sophisticated bullshit', since the man was well-spoken, well dressed, and had a lofty air. But one small derogatory remark directed at Steve hinted at everything Steve had told him to be true. Sam passed some kind of screening even while drunk (or maybe because of it?), and they were left alone. They ate pizza for dinner and crashed in Steve's room after inflating the bed Sam's currently lying on.</p>
<p>Sam rolls off of it and stands up. He makes his way to the toilet down the corridor on unsteady legs, relieves himself, and goes back. It's 7:34 AM. He lies down on the bed again and finds his phone. There's a message from Nick, asking if he'll come to their gig tonight. He taps out, 'That's the plan,' sends it, and falls back to sleep.</p>
<hr/>
<p>If Sam had thought Brady was active, it's nothing compared to Steve. By all means, it's Sam that insists that they work out once they're properly awake, but then Steve convinces him to go to the zoo of all things. Sam's never been to anything bigger than a petting zoo, and he loves it! There are these adorable peccary piglets he falls in love with, and it's a good thing they're not drinking tequila, or the idea of stealing one might have seemed like a viable option. They spend a lot of time checking out guys and commenting about it in whispered voices. It's fun because Steve's so happy about it.</p>
<p>They separate late afternoon so Sam can go home, shower, and get changed before going to Pub Anchor. He's in a great mood while he's loitering in his motel room, deliberating about what clothes to wear when there's a knock on the door. He goes to open, thinking it's Steve.</p>
<p>It's not.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Michael and Nick's phones beep at the same time.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Sam:</b> Sorry. I can't come tonight. I have to go out of state for a couple of days. Don't know when I'll get back, but don't worry about me. I'll get in touch when I get back.</tt>
</p>
<p>"From Sam?" Nick asks Michael.</p>
<p>"Yup."</p>
<p>"This isn't suspicious at all," Nick mutters. "He said he would come when I asked him earlier today."</p>
<p>"Plans change, Nick," Michael points out, but he too looks troubled. </p>
<p>"It's the line 'don't worry about me' that does it. It's too vague."</p>
<p>"I know. But we did ask him to inform us if he wouldn't show up. It's just a couple of days."</p>
<p>"I've got a bad feeling about this."</p>
<p>Michael holds his gaze for too long, pursing his lips in thought. Then he hums noncommittally. It's a bad sign when Michael doesn't argue.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It's been eight days. Eight fucking days without a peep from Sam. Calling him takes you directly to his voicemail. Nick thinks he deserves a medal for only dropping by a couple of times to peek through the blinds, seeing nothing. Yesterday he knocked. If Sam had opened, he'd have claimed to have gotten the address from Michael. Today his patience ran up, and the need to <i>know</i> outweighs courtesy. </p>
<p>He walks straight up to Sam's room. He'd pocketed a tool he'd hoped never to need to use again before he left for work this morning. Now he takes his lockpicks out of his pocket as if they were regular keys. He gives a nearby guest a polite nod while picking the lock, it clicks open swiftly as if he's never stopped doing this, and he enters.</p>
<p>The room smells funky as if it hasn't been aired for a week despite the sweltering heat. He opens the window to get some fresh air in and goes to the fridge. Opening it, it tells a story Nick doesn't want to hear. Anything fresh isn't so fresh anymore, and there's mold on the fruits in there.</p>
<p>
  <i>Okay, Sam. You'll have to forgive me for snooping, but this is rank and needs to go.</i>
</p>
<p>He tosses everything rotten in the bin, then does a proper search of the motel room.</p>
<p>Twenty minutes later, he's terrified, cold dread squeezing his heart. Sam's room doesn't have terribly many personal belongings. There are clothes, a stash of condoms, and lube packets that say that Sam's either prodigiously sexually active or <i>incredibly</i> hopeful. A paper with the test results from an STD test that came in clean, hinting at the former. A couple books, a photo of a young Sam standing with a blonde teenager holding an arm around his shoulder, both of them grinning at the camera. Nick guesses it's Sam's brother Dean. There are papers listing homeless shelters and firms that might have easy to get temp jobs. But what has Nick in such a state of dread is the envelope containing $2400, a laptop, Sam's empty backpack, and Sam's phone. It's plugged into the charger, hidden in the nightstand drawer, and shut off. Nick tries to turn it on, but Sam has it fingerprint locked. Sam's wallet is gone, but everything points at Sam not planning to leave or be gone for more than a week.</p>
<p>
  <i>He said he was going out of state. Why the fuck didn't he bring his phone?</i>
</p>
<p>There's a knock on the door, making Nick jump in startlement. </p>
<p>Heart beating hard and fast, he peeks through the blinds to see a tired-looking man in a motel staff uniform. Nick opens the door. "Yes?"</p>
<p>"Good afternoon, Sir. I saw you come in, and I'm here to remind you that your room fee for the month was supposed to be paid yesterday. You're booked until the end of August, but if you don't pay monthly as agreed, we're going to have to evict you. You know how it is. Summer, a lot of guests vying for a room. We can't risk being cheated out of payment." The man doesn't look like he cares either way. In fact, he seems like he's done with motel guests altogether.</p>
<p>"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't realize what day it was. I'll come to the front desk and pay straight away. Would you mind getting the trash for me and maybe clean up while I go pay?"</p>
<p>"Certainly, Sir," the man drones.</p>
<p>"Good. I'll be right back."</p>
<p>Nick brings Sam's envelope to the front desk, using Sam's own money to clear the bill. He wonders how much money Claire borrowed because once he's paid, there's less than a grand left, and it won't cover the fees until August.</p>
<p>The cleaning lady is changing the sheets when he gets back, and by the smell of it, she's already vacuumed and cleaned the bathroom. He tips her with his own money and sits down on the chair by the little table to think. He can't exactly hide that he's been here now, but he's beyond caring. He's too worried. He calls Michael to report. "So I broke into his motel room and everything points to him not having been home since he texted us and he might not have planned to be gone so long and I think he's in deep shit somehow."</p>
<p>"Hello to you too," Michael answers without any of his usual humor.</p>
<p>"It's serious, Mikey. He didn't bring money or his phone, or even clothes by the look of it. And the motel staff came to collect his room fee, which was late. I paid it with his money, so if he does show up and it was the wrong move, I owe him $1500."</p>
<p>Michael's quiet. </p>
<p>"Michael, I <i>know</i> I'm not supposed to do shit like this anymo―"</p>
<p>"I'll tell him I sent you. If he shows up, I'll take the blame, okay? What exactly did you find?"</p>
<p>
  <i>If…</i>
</p>
<p>Nick and Ella had seen too many wayward kids go missing and never turn up again. Nick had lived on the streets. He knew the dangers all too well. It's when you're trying to puzzle out where someone could have gone that you truly realize how much you know or don't know about someone. They know precisely <i>nothing</i> about Sam, except that he'd run away from home to go to college and that he doesn't know where his family lives because they move around so often. Their working theory is that Sam's family found him and dragged him back home, and that's the hopeful theory since Sam always speaks warmly about them.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He can see someone's been in his room the moment he opens the door. He doesn't know how to feel about it yet, since he'd thought he wouldn't have a room to return to. The room is cleaned, the bed made, a small, distinctly new air cooler stands on the table, merrily battling the heat. He heads for the place he's hidden his money, opens the envelope just to find less money and a blessed receipt for his room fee. His eyes start to sting from gratitude and relief. His laptop and phone are where he left them, and his pantry and fridge are stocked with food that keeps. There's a note on the sink. It says “<i>Call <span class="u">Michael</span>!</i>”</p>
<p>He stares at the note for a beat, empty, numb, and drained.</p>
<p>Then he empties his pockets, sheds his clothes, throws them in the trash bin, removes his silver bracelet, drops it on the table, and heads for the shower. Once clean, he dresses, pockets his phone without switching it on, packs his backpack, and leaves his room. He heads for the hospital Uriel took him to, gets himself tested again, this time registering his address and phone number so they can give him the results directly, then walks to Planet Fitness for his daily workout. The Black Card membership was his best investment to this day. Not only for the way his soul was put to rest by the exercise or the speed he gained muscle mass, but because of the showers. It had taken a bit longer to get home since he planned his route by where the gyms were, but it was well worth it. The Black Card gave him access to the gyms all over the US. Had he gone for the no-commitment membership, he'd been locked to his home gym.</p>
<p>After working out, he goes home to eat.</p>
<p>He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time, debating whether to shave or not. His scruff is coming in faster than it used to. It makes him look older. Maybe Nick will be more likely to want him then? Something deep inside of him curls into a ball of disgust at the thought. He shaves. He doesn't care what Nick will think. He's been fooling himself, thinking he has a chance, a <i>choice</i>. </p>
<p>He lies on the bed and switches on his phone. It instantly starts to chirp like mad with incoming messages about voicemails and texts. Michael, Nick, Steve, Kelvin, and even a text from Brady. He ignores them in favor of calling Claire. There's no answer. He leaves a message. "Hi, Claire. It's Sam Winchester. I know I've been off-grid for a while, but I'm back now, and I really need my money. You should have gotten your pay now. Call me, okay?"</p>
<p>He hangs up and calls Dean. "<tt>The number you've dialed is no longer in use. Please hang up, and try again…</tt>" Sam hangs up with a disgusted noise of protest. It was a long shot, to begin with. He'd been thinking of Dean almost daily. He misses him painfully much. It would be stupid to reveal where he is to his brother, but still. He just wanted to hear his voice.</p>
<p>He reads through Kelvin's texts then calls him, not caring whether he should or not. Kelvin picks up right away. "Sam?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, it's me."</p>
<p>"Where the hell have you been? I thought we had an understanding!"</p>
<p>Sam feels his ire rise. "We do. But you left me stranded in <i>New York</i>. I just got home today. And you <i>know</i> I’d forgotten my phone.”</p>
<p>"My daughter was in the hospital, Sam. I had to leave. And I drove you to the train station. You should have been home weeks ago."</p>
<p>"I <i>told</i> you I didn't have much money on me," Sam snarls. "A train ticket was $279. I couldn't afford that. I had to hitchhike my way home. I'm never going anywhere with you again, 'understanding' or not, if you don't make sure I get back safe and sound. You owe me big time."</p>
<p>"You hitchhiked? Damn, boo. That's dangerous! Are you alright?" Kelvin's anger is switched for worry.</p>
<p>"Alive and kicking."</p>
<p>"You could have squared out for a ticket on your credit card, and I would have reimbursed you. I don't like you putting yourself in danger like that, boo."</p>
<p>Sam snaps his fingers irritably. "You didn't listen then, and you're not listening now, Kelv. I. Don't. Have. A. Credit card. I have cash. And I had less than a fifty on me when you ditched me. And because of you, I'm in deep shit, money-wise. I could have been working instead of trying to get myself home. Now I'll be out on my ass in ten days unless I manage to scrape together the rest of my room fee."</p>
<p>"Damn. I'm really sorry, Sam. I was so worried for my daughter; I couldn't think straight." That part might actually be true. Sam has never seen a black man go as pale as Kelvin did when the phone call about his daughter being hospitalized had come. She'd been in a horseback riding accident. But Kelvin had lied about a shitload of other things. Like having a choice to break this relationship off or not. Oh, he <i>had</i> a choice. But the unspoken threat was clear. If he did, no matter how well he did when school started, he'd fail Kelvin's classes.</p>
<p>"I noticed. How's your daughter?"</p>
<p>"Recovered. She was unconscious for two days. Most frightening days of my life. She's fine now, except for a broken arm. She doesn't seem too bothered, though, and she's gotten all her friends to write on the cast."</p>
<p>"Glad to hear," Sam says, feeling bad because he can't muster up any genuine concern about the little girl's health. "You coming over? I miss you," he lies, playing his assigned role.</p>
<p>"You back at the motel?"</p>
<p>"Mhm."</p>
<p>"Hold on." Kelvin covers the speaker with his hand, but Sam can still hear. "<i>Hey, babe? I'm going over to Marcus to have a couple of beers. Be back in a few hours. Need me to pick anything up on my way home?</i>"</p>
<p>"<i>No we're fine. Have fun, Pooh bear.</i>” </p>
<p>There's a kissing sound, then the sound of a door shutting, then Kelvin's back. "I'm on my way. You need me to get anything on the way?"</p>
<p>"There is, actually, since you're asking. I'm bulking, so I'll need…" Sam rattles off a list of food, mostly fresh stuff. Fruits, veggies, cottage cheese, eggs, milk, things like that. The food in the fridge is okay but not what he needs. Or rather, only part of what he needs now that he's seeking comfort in physical exercise like he used to do in reading.</p>
<p>He hangs up, puts his silver bracelet back on, and waits. Something inside of him retreats into the very back of his mind. By the time Kelvin gets there, Sam's not really there anymore. In his stead is the good boy who knows how to please. He wraps his arms around Kelvin with a big smile and kisses him like he's been dying for it. Kelvin finds the note about calling Michael, because of course he does, but the fierce jealousy is drowned out by Sam's enthusiasm about seeing him. Plus, Sam's smart enough to say Michael's an accountant he met that had promised to look into possible job openings in his company. Some coaxing and guilt-tripping make Kelvin give Sam 600 bucks to make up for the time he'd have to spend hitchhiking and thus couldn't work.</p>
<p>Once Kelvin leaves, Sam showers again, then goes to the front desk to pay for his room. It puts his total amount of money left at 34 dollars. He yet again removes the silver bracelet as soon as he's back inside. Then he lies down on the bed and calls Michael without reading any of the texts from anyone.</p>
<p>"Sam?!" Michael answers straight from picking up.</p>
<p>"Yeah, it's me."</p>
<p>"Are you alright? Where have you been? We've been so wo-wo-worried. I'm sorry for the buh-breach of privacy. I know it was wrong of me to send Nick to break into your room, but―"</p>
<p>"No, no. It's alright. Look. I'm calling to say thank you. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have had anything to come back to. My laptop, money, and phone would be gone. I'm grateful. Really." </p>
<p>Michael takes a deep wobbly breath. "Thank God, y-y-you're alright."</p>
<p>"Are you crying?"</p>
<p>"Tuh-trying not to. I'm sorry, Sam. In our world, the worst-case scenarios are far too often those that come to pass. I'm so d-damned relieved, I―"Michael takes another unsteady breath, and suddenly Sam feels close to tears. The care is too genuine and painful. He can imagine their worry, even if he hadn't while he'd been on the road. The weeks it had taken him to cross the country from one coast to the other is mostly a blur. There are huge chunks of memory gaps he instinctively knows he doesn't want to remember, and that's why he doesn't consider his memory gaps to be a problem. Hearing Michael's voice, choked up and stuttering a few words, it reminds him where the drive to get back home came from, to begin with. Why this IS home. It's absurd, considering they haven't known each other that long.</p>
<p>"What are you doing? Can I see you?"</p>
<p>“<i>Yes</i>. Please. You want me to pick you up? I'm at home," Michael tells him with a desperate need-to-see-you-right-now tone of voice.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles, tanned skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he grins. "Nah. I'll walk. I just need to eat first."</p>
<p>"I'll cook," Michael hastens to assure him. Then pauses for a beat and adds, "Well. Not really. But I'll make food happen. Just get yourself over here, please? I'm probably overstepping my bounds by miles and miles, being needy as hell. But I've worried myself sick, and I'd like to see you in person to know that you're really okay. If that's alright with you? Please?"</p>
<p>Sam laughs, heart expanding twelve sizes behind his ribcage. This is what real care feels like. "Don't worry. I'm on my way. You just make food happen, and I'll be there in no time."</p>
<p>He packs his bag, brings an extra set of clothes, workout clothes, and laptop, then sets off.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <tt>The Raven sat on Little Bird in a nest far, far up in a giant tree. She was warm and heavy, almost like it felt back before Little Bird fell out of his own nest, when his parents used to sit on him to keep him warm. Ever so often, she asked if he wanted to give him a feather. Little Bird would pick loose a downy feather from his skin and hand it to her. The Raven would coo in delight and snuggle closer anytime. But Little Bird got anxious. What would happen when he ran out of down to give the Raven? </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" I don't want to give you more of my feathers. I need them to keep warm," Little Bird said to the Raven.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Oh, that's okay, Little Bird," the beautiful, black Raven cooed. "You see those clouds high overhead?" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird looked up. Far far in the distance, fluffy white clouds drifted in the sky. "Yes." </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" When you no longer want to give me your feathers, I will let you go. I will take you to those clouds and let you go. You'll be free to fly away as you please," the Raven assured Little Bird slyly.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird realized it meant he wasn't free to stop giving the Raven his downy feathers at all. He couldn't fly, and a fall from that height would surely end his story. He huddled closer to the beautiful Raven for warmth. As long as he didn't stop giving the Raven his feathers, she'd be nice and take care of him. But what would happen when he no longer had feathers to give?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Suddenly, something startled the Raven. She threw herself out of the nest and flew away. Little Bird was caught high up in the tree. Far in the distance, he could see a storm brewing, and he knew he'd be doomed if he stayed in the nest without anyone to sit on him. He decided to try to climb down.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Small birds aren't made for climbing. They've got no hands or paws that can grip, and their tiny wings can't stabilize them no matter how they flap, so Little Bird's fall was inevitable. He hit so many branches, got scratched by pine needles, torn asunder on his way down. But he survived the fall. He then limped towards a mountain in the distance, hoping to find a crevice to hide in to shelter him from the storm. </tt>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Michael's waiting outside, spots him and visibly does a double-take. "Holy hell, Sam! You've been living at a gym since I last saw you?" he calls out and starts walking towards Sam to meet him halfway down the street.</p>
<p>"More or less," Sam concedes and lengthens his steps.</p>
<p>Michael pulls him into a hard hug the moment he's close enough to do so. Sam reflexively hugs back. "I'm sorry. Am I too clingy? We don't know each other well enough for me to be this clingy, do we?" Michael babbles, holding on tight.</p>
<p>"Apparently, we do," Sam laughs, holding on just as hard. It feels like years ago, not barely a month since he felt this relaxed in someone's company. Michael just doesn't feel like a threat in any way.</p>
<p>Michael reluctantly lets go and sizes Sam up. "But seriously, you've been working out. That shirt could be painted on you, and I <i>know</i> it wasn't that tight the last time I saw you wearing it."</p>
<p>Sam makes a frustrated noise. "Yeah. I work out daily. Just hadn't counted on growing out of my clothes so soon. I can't afford to buy anything new right now. My pants still fit well enough, but all my shirts are too tight over the chest and shoulders."</p>
<p>"No shit. I might have something that fits you. If not, Nick will. We'd both do well to clean out our closets anyway. Come on. I've got dinner ready."</p>
<p>Michael's a bit twitchy, looking like he's gagging to ask and holding back. Instead, he explains why he hasn't got a living room table anymore then bids Sam sit by the small table in the kitchen, where there are six different types of Chinese take away. "I didn't know what you like, so I ordered a bit of everything. You want anything to drink? Beer? Soda? Juice? Kool-Aid?"</p>
<p>"I suppose tequila's out of the question?" Sam jokes.</p>
<p>"Oh. Ha ha, yes. I heard about that. No, I'm sorry, I don't have any at home."</p>
<p>Sam grins. "A beer's fine, then. Shit, Michael, you're all strung up."</p>
<p>Michael's cheeks color pink as he takes two beers from the fridge, uncaps them, and hands one to Sam. "Yes, well. I don't want to overstep my bounds or anything. But you said you'd be back in a few days, and you've been gone for almost a month." He sits down and motions for Sam to help himself to the food. "I care about you a lot, Sam. At the same time, I don't know if I've got the right to ask where the hell you've been and what the hell happened. It makes things awkward."</p>
<p>Sam serves himself, takes a bite of food, and considers. "New York," he answers, opting for as much truth as he dares to give. "I have a married lover that showed up at my doorstep to take me on a romantic trip to New York. It was supposed to be for only a couple of days, according to him. But while we were there, he got a phone call about his daughter being hospitalized and had to fly home. He left me high and dry, thinking he could reimburse me for the train ticket home, only he was too shook up to take in the fact that I didn't have the money to <i>buy</i> a ticket, to begin with. So I had to hitchhike my way back here."</p>
<p>Michael's demeanor changes, eyes going dark, face stern. "He left you with no money and no way to get home, in New York," he states with a dangerous tone of voice.</p>
<p>Sam shoves more food in his mouth and chews before he answers with more than a nod. "He and I don't interpret having no money the same way. To him, it's not having a budget to spend on fancy trips and dining. To me, it's not having money to spend on a roof over my head. He told me I should have just taken it on my credit card. I don’t <i>have</i> a credit card.”</p>
<p>"And you'd forgotten your phone at home?"</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head and takes a swig of beer. He's still holding on to honesty. "No. He's deeply jealous. He's told me we can't be boyfriends since he's married and yadda yadda. But that doesn't stop him from demanding that I be faithful. I'm not giving him that, but I chose between deleting all the photos I have on my phone or risking a jealous fit if he'd get his hands on it or if someone called―"</p>
<p>"He'd go through your phone without permission?" Michael interrupts him.</p>
<p>"I don't know, but I wasn't willing to risk it. In hindsight, it was a pain in the ass not to have a phone with me. But I did alright. I've got a Black Card at Planet Fitness, so I went by their locations, ensuring I always had a place to shower. He helped me make rent when I got back, so there's that."</p>
<p>"Sam. I don't want to sound like a meddling bitch, but that guy isn't good for you."</p>
<p>"You think?" Sam chirps sarcastically. "I can't break it off, though."</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. "Sorry. I can't tell you that. Not now, at least."</p>
<p>There's a brief flash of frustration on Michael's face. "Okay. But you should know, we've got your back. If that <i>fucker</i> threatens you…”</p>
<p>Sam grins at Michael's heated remark. Michael's normally so sweet, so seeing him pissed off is fascinating. "Duly noted. And I appreciate it. But he's usually nice and generous, and very romantic. He just lost his head when his daughter got injured."</p>
<p>Michael rubs his eyes in vexation. "Now you sound like Gabe does when he's defending his on-off girlfriend, Kali. But alright. I won't push the matter. The important thing is that you're alright. Nothing bad happened while you got yourself home?"</p>
<p>"Got mugged in Bullhead City, Arizona. Not the best experience in my life," Sam says, making light of the pure terror of having a gun pointed at his forehead. "But apart from that, everything went well enough." He's veering off the path of truth. It had gone reasonably well, all things considered. But something had started to change inside of him that made it harder and harder to disconnect to do his job. Plus, he'd begun to have profoundly disconcerting dreams. Possibly memories mixed up with imagination or maybe just fear. "Hey, how did Nick get into my room anyway?" he asks before Michael can probe even further.</p>
<p>"He picked your lock."</p>
<p>"Really? He knows how to do that?"</p>
<p>"Nick's got many talents. Few of them legal."</p>
<p>Sam chuckles in bemusement. "That's kinda cool."</p>
<p>Michael smirks lopsidedly. "It is, isn't it?"</p>
<p>Michael's good at reading when he hits a wall, and they leave topics Sam can't or won't talk about. Instead, they talk about other things. Things that should have been less volatile. Until Sam steps onto a sore topic.</p>
<p>"So where's Nick now?"</p>
<p>"He and Gabe are visiting Ella, our sister."</p>
<p>A thought strikes Sam. "Is Ella Chuck's real kid?" When he first heard about her, he hadn't known they weren't 'real' siblings, so he hadn't thought more about it. But now…</p>
<p>"No. She's a stray kitten just like us. But dad went and adopted her legally too. I think he felt that she needed to be wanted more than most of us," Michael smiles.</p>
<p>"But… doesn't Chuck run a home for boys only?"</p>
<p>Michael's whole demeanor becomes guarded, gaze sharpening. "Uh-huh."</p>
<p>"So how did a girl end up there?"</p>
<p>Michael licks his lips as if he's searching for the right answer, while his gaze is drilling holes into Sam. He looks as protective as he did earlier when he was pissed off at how Kelvin had treated Sam.</p>
<p>A thought strikes Sam. "Ooh. I see. Her parents… had problems coping with... the fact that she didn't get her period like most other girls?" he hedges carefully.</p>
<p>Michael processes the answer, then snorts in amusement and relaxes. "That's one way to put it. But you're right. You don't have any problems with people whose anatomy differs from their gender?"</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. "No. I've never met anyone like that that I know of, so I'll probably put my foot in my mouth and make a fool out of myself if I ever get to meet her."</p>
<p>Michael chuckles. "Don't worry about it. Nick does that all the time, and he was the first one to really accept her as a girl if you don't count dad. He told us a girl would be moving in, then when Ella, or Raphael, that's her birth name, came, I was like 'what the hell?'. She and Nick squared off almost immediately. You know, one of those nose to nose staredowns when you know fists are going to fly at a pin drop? And she went, 'What you gonna do, tough guy? Think you can kick my ass?' And he went, 'No. I don't hit girls.' A total lie. He'll hit anyone that's a threat. But not Ella. Instead, he threatened to burn her dresses if she touched any of our stuff and backed off. Took the edge right off the situation. After that, he kept correcting everyone who said he instead of she, and he started bringing her gifts. Anonymously at first. A dress. A necklace. Makeup. Stuff like that. The first few times she came into the room to find a wrapped gift on her bed, she was really suspicious and apprehensive. She's told me she expected them to be traps of some sort." He smiles at the memory.</p>
<p>"It doesn't sound like he puts his foot in his mouth?"</p>
<p>"Depends where you lay the bar. See, Ella lives a couple of hours away from us. She's a roommate with three other girls that are like her. Overall, that's a good thing. Ella's been struggling with depression and even tried to take her own life once. She's been faring a lot better since she moved in with those girls. <i>But</i>, Nick doesn't always use the right rhetorics and doesn't bother reading up on things. He figures that if people want him to know something, they have to tell him themselves. That led to one of the girls calling him a transphobe, ticking him off. So any time he meets her, he'll act like one. You know, like he called Claire a whore? He'll call Cassandra 'he' at every turn and attack all her weaknesses. Then Cassandra went on a rant about the 'cotton ceiling', and he went into full war mode."</p>
<p>"What's the cotton ceiling?"</p>
<p>"Uh. Oh, that's complicated. It's a theory about transmisogyny and how they're excluded from having sexual relationships with lesbians or something like that. You should ask Nick about it. He'll read you the riot act and explain it colorfully with all your chosen profanities implemented."</p>
<p>"What about it makes him so angry?"</p>
<p>"Well, it basically declares it transphobic for lesbians not to want to have sex with trans women because they don't have vaginas. And it pisses Nick off because the very idea suggests that trans people are entitled to have sex with lesbians."</p>
<p>"Aren't they?"</p>
<p>"No," Michael chuckles like it's absurd. "No one's body is another's human right. That negates consent. If there's one time we have supreme right to discriminate ruthlessly, it's when it comes to physical intimacy. If someone doesn't want to have sex with you, they don't. End of story."</p>
<p>Something about that statement makes Sam uncomfortable. He feels the need to argue. Surely, once you've paid for it, it's your right? Or if you've been flirting all night? Or if you're in a relationship? Or if you're a parent? ‘<i>...I brought you into this world, Sammy. It's my right to…</i>' He shies away from dad's voice in his head. All these things have always been axiomatic to Sam. Now it makes him cringe inwardly as if he's glimpsing something gory and gross.</p>
<p><i> He's talking about trans women and lesbians. It has nothing to do with me,</i> he tells himself. Still, it takes a while before the uncomfortable feeling subsides.</p>
<p>They move to the living room and keep talking. Michael takes a guitar and strums on it while they talk and then coaxes Sam into play. It's tricky, but he kind of likes it. Michael teaches him the E and the A chord and then has him switching between them in a simple rhythm while Michael sings. Michael's incredibly enthusiastic, even when Sam messes up. It's enjoyable and fun, and Sam finds himself inspired. He asks if it's okay that he writes while Michael plays, explaining the burst of inspiration. Michael gives him the go-ahead, and then Sam has the most brilliant writing session. Instead of tuning sound out, he lets Michael's music flow through him while he writes, and Michael seems more than content to sing and play by himself. Their coexistence is as easy as breathing. </p>
<p>Sam stays the night, sleeping on the couch. </p>
<p>In the morning, they hit the gym together before Michael goes to work and then meet up for lunch. They meet up again after Michael's finished working. Michael takes him to an Italian restaurant by the sea. After that, they walk along the dock to the pier where they eat spun sugar, look at stuff in the market stalls, play whack-a-mole, and other silly stuff. Michael brings him along to another pub, smaller than the Anchor, located near the pier where a great singer-songwriter performs. That's where the tequila comes into play. It's all so easy, undemanding, and fun - a stark contrast to his life since he went with Kelvin to New York a month ago.</p>
<p>The walk along the dock homeward is slow and unsteady, filled with laughter. At one point, Michael stops to stare at a brown haired man with blue eyes that walks past them. </p>
<p>"That's your type?" Sam asks, throwing an arm around Michael's shoulders, following the man with his gaze, that Michael's giving lingering looks after. </p>
<p>"What?" Michael asks, perplexed, and then breaks into giggles. Sam giggles along, not knowing what's funny except Michael giggling. "No no no. I wonder if he's Cas," Michael clarifies with a dopey grin. "Anytime I see a man that looks like dad or me, I wonder. It might sound messed up, but in a way, Cas is the greatest love I've had in my life. I don't mean in a dirty way or anything. But I haven't seen him since he was three and I don't know what he looks like. I don't even have photos of him as a kid."</p>
<p>"Have you tried to find him?"</p>
<p>"Yes. I know they used his middle name, James, to prevent him from getting bullied. So he became James Johnson. As if that's not bad enough, they moved out of state, got divorced, then his mom remarried, and he <i>probably</i> took the last name Williams. Then the trail led abroad, and I lost it. If he's back in the States, he could be anywhere, and do you know how many James Williams and James Johnson there are in the US?"</p>
<p>"Ouch."</p>
<p>"Mhm." Michael slips his arm around Sam's back ostensibly without thinking about it, and they start walking again, Sam's arm still around his shoulders. </p>
<p>"So instead, you turn your head after every dark-haired hot guy you see, hoping you'll magically recognize your brother?" Sam ribs.</p>
<p>Michael snorts in amusement. "No. I said I stare at every guy that reminds me of dad or me."</p>
<p>"That's what I said," Sam points out with a lopsided smirk.</p>
<p>Michael's eyes go wide. He starts to laugh, cuts himself off, scrutinizes Sam's smirking face for disingenuity, finds none, giggles, and hides his face in Sam's shoulder. They're walking under a lamp right then so Sam can see Michael's neck turning dark red. Sam's belly flutters and thrills. It's a surprising but welcome feeling.</p>
<p>"I called Dean yesterday," Sam confesses.</p>
<p>Michael looks up. "What did he say?"</p>
<p>"'The number you've dialed is no longer in use. Please hang up, and try again.'"</p>
<p>"Aw, shit. I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"Mh. It was a dumb impulse anyway. I miss him so damned much, but if dad finds out where I am, I'm afraid he'd drag me back and won't let me go again."</p>
<p>"That's bullshit. You know that would count as kidnapping, right? You've reached the age of majority in all states except Colorado and Mississippi. We're in California. He has no legal authority over you."</p>
<p>Sam wracks his memory. "Doesn't Alabama and Nebraska have other ages of majority too?"</p>
<p>"Yes, but it's 19 there, and you're 19."</p>
<p>Sam hums. His tequila drenched brain thinks he might be wagging his tongue too freely right now. There are secrets he's supposed to keep, and he's having trouble remembering what those are. "What would you tell Cas if you could speak with him right now?"</p>
<p>Michael ponders the question. "I don't know…"</p>
<p>An idea strikes Sam. "What would you sing to him?"</p>
<p>Michael's lip pulls up in one corner. "I'm not sure."</p>
<p>"There's no song that you sing when you think of him?"</p>
<p>"Yes, there is. But it's me thinking of him, not what I would sing to him."</p>
<p>"Sing it to me."</p>
<p>“What? <i>Now</i>?”</p>
<p>"Yeah," Sam smirks at him, a challenge in his eyes.</p>
<p>Michael looks around at all the people strolling around them. It's Friday night, and revelers are out and about just like them. "I can't. All the people…"</p>
<p>"Dude. I'm the only one here," Sam insists, smiling as if there isn't ample proof otherwise. "You can sing to me, can't you?"</p>
<p>"Yes, but…"</p>
<p>Sam turns to face him head-on, resting his forearms on his shoulders, lacing his fingers loosely together behind Michael's back. "...Please?" he begs, hitting Michael with his puppy-eyed expression full force.</p>
<p>Michael gets lost, staring into his sad, pleading eyes. His mouth opens and closes as if he's searching for an excuse, then… "<i>In my search for freedom, and peace of mind, I've left the memories behind.</i>" His voice is weak and faltering in the beginning, but as he goes on, his confidence grows. “<i>...Wanna start a new life, but it seems to be rather absurd. When I know the truth... Is that I always think of you!</i>" Sam's smile grows as Michael's singing turns into the shamelessly competent vocals he recognizes. By the time he hits the chorus, Michael's showmanship has kicked in, and he looks around to see that a few people have stopped to listen. He turns towards them and gives it his all. “<i>...Someday, someway, Together we will be, baby. I will take, and you will take your time. We'll wait for our fate. Cos' nobody owns us, baby. We can shake, we can shake the rock.</i>”</p>
<p>More people are stopping, forming a semicircle around Michael. He's one of those people who have charisma on command, popping out from nowhere when he sings. Sam, grinning wildly, claps a backdrop rhythm, being joined by others while Michael puts on a show. "<i>Try to throw the picture, out of my mind. Try to leave the memories behind. Here by the ocean, waves carry voices from you. Do you know the truth... I am thinking of you too!</i>"</p>
<p>It's a hopeful song, sung in a major key, but Sam listens to the lyrics, putting them in the context of Cas and Michael. Without the hope with which Michael sings it, it would be heartbreaking.</p>
<p>"...<i>The love we had together, just fades away in time. And now you've got your own world, and I guess I've got mine. But the passion that you planted, in the middle of my heart. Is a passion that will never stop!</i>”</p>
<p>As Michael launches into a repeat of the chorus, Sam spots somebody taking up their wallet looking at the ground where Michael's putting on a show. Sam doesn't even think before uncapping the baseball cap he's attached to a belt loop in his shorts, then walking around the semicircle holding the cap out to collect possible alms. The woman with the wallet throws in a tenner and several other drop coins into his cap.</p>
<p>Michael takes a bow when he's finished. "Come see me play at Pub Anchor tomorrow," he tells the crowd before waving goodbye and pulling Sam along, letting the crowd disperse.</p>
<p>When Michael deems them far enough from the place of his impromptu performance, he stops and doubles over laughing. "Holy shit! I did that! I can't believe I just did that!"</p>
<p>Sam laughs along with Michael's thrilled, contagious laughter. "What? You perform twice a week. It's not such a big deal, is it?"</p>
<p>"Are you kidding?" Michael exclaims, face splitting grin making him shine like the sun. “That was <i>major</i>! I've never sung for strangers like that! On stage, accompanied by instruments and supported by my brothers is one thing, but this… <i>Holy shit!</i>" He looks so damned proud and overjoyed that Sam's cheeks hurt from smiling as hard as he does.</p>
<p>"The blessings of tequila," Sam quips.</p>
<p>"Yes, but no. The blessing of a company I feel completely at ease in," Michael counters with a warm smile. "You're as good at putting my social anxiety to ease as my brothers are. That was great!"</p>
<p>Sam thrills in felicity. "It was awesome! You're amazing. And here, this is yours." He holds out the cap with the money to Michael.</p>
<p>Michael sniggers. "You keep it. I could barely keep myself from laughing when I saw what you were doing. You've got your survival instinct as finely honed as Nick, I think. He'd totally have done that too."</p>
<p>It sounds like a compliment, and Sam preens inwardly. "No, it's yours, man. You earned it."</p>
<p>Michael grins. "Oh, come on. I'm still high on the limelight, and I don't need it. Either you keep it, or…" He looks across the street. "How much is it?"</p>
<p>Sam counts. "$27,50."</p>
<p>"We could stock up on more tequila?" Michael suggests and points at the liquor store across the street.</p>
<p>"You, Sir, are a very wise man," Sam quips sagely. They blink at each other for a beat before collapsing into each other in another laughing fit.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Y've gotta tell me if I get too handsy. I think I ought to be a handsy drunk. I'm all over you, 'n't I?" Michael rambles with a glossy-eyed, drunk smile. They're back to walking with an arm slung around each other, part in camaraderie, part due to the need to help each other's stability.</p>
<p>Sam giggles. “<i>Ought</i> to be? That's not how it works. Either you are, or you aren't."</p>
<p>"'S nothing to laugh about. I <i>want</i> to be a handsy drunk. But it'd be rude," he explains with the same doofy smile.</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, you ain't handsy. I'll tell you that." He turns his head to nuzzle Michael's neck at the same time as he slides his hand down from Michael's shoulder to cup his ass cheek and give a little squeeze. "This is handsy," he breathes into Michael's ear. He can see goosebumps erupting on Michael's neck, and in his belly, there's a responding thrill of excitement.</p>
<p>Michael blushes and laughs out loud. "Oh, boy. Now you're toeing the line," he grins.</p>
<p>Sam puts his arm back over Michael's shoulder again. His cheeks are strained from smiling, and his stomach might have gotten the best workout in ages from laughing alone. "Pfft," he scoffs, looking out over the bay. The inky water glitters from all the city lights, and in the distance, boats pass. "Lines. It feels like people paint lines all around me, and I have <i>no friggin clue</i> what they're supposed to mean. Like, I'm supposed to understand those lines just because everyone does. And nobody takes the time explaining them to me, but people get mad if I cross them. It's not fair."</p>
<p>Michael gets another giggle fit and has to stop. "You don't make sense. How can I explain something if you don't pose a question?"</p>
<p>"But I don't know what questions I'm supposed to be asking," Sam defends, giggling along.</p>
<p>"Gimme an example of a line you don't understand, and I'll do my best tryin' to explain," Michael offers. He takes a swig from the tequila bottle he's holding and hands it over. It's more than halfway gone by now. Sam's head's swimming in the most wonderful way. He takes a deep drink of the foul-tasting liquor and hands the bottle back.</p>
<p>"Okay. Okay. Like, like Dean. I love him more than anyone else. Why is it crossing a line that I fantasize about him? I mean, I love him to bits, and he's beautiful and awesome in every way, right? So would it really be so wrong for me to show him how I feel by letting him have me?"</p>
<p>Michael's eyes go comically round. He covers his mouth with a hand, trying to withhold giggles. "You're serious?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"But the answer's easy. You're related!"</p>
<p>Sam's shoulders drop. "Look. This is what I mean. I'm supposed to understand why that makes me gross and wrong and a freak, but I don't."</p>
<p>"You're not―! Dammit. You're not any of that, okay?" Michael goes a few notches more serious even if his eyes still hold the overall mood's jollity. "Are you in love with your brother? As in, do you want him to be your boyfriend?"</p>
<p>"No. I just want to show him my love. And sex is the highest form of love. That's what I've been taught."</p>
<p>"But it's not," Michael refutes, starting to look a bit distressed around the edges of his soft smile.</p>
<p>"Then what is?"</p>
<p>"Respect, unwavering faith, and support."</p>
<p>"Yeah? What's that like?" Sam asks with a curious smile.</p>
<p>For a beat, it looks like the question hurt Michael somehow; like it's causing him pain. Sam's on the verge of apologizing even if he doesn't get <i>why</i> that was a bad question. But then Michael smiles, warm and open. "I'm too drunk to put it into words right now, but if you stick around, me and my brothers will show you. Because, Sammy, in that department, we excel."</p>
<p>Sam grins and pulls him in close, kisses his temple, and drags him along to keep walking. "In that case, I'm looking forward to learning. Oh, oh. Maybe you can explain why it's called 'doing the dirty' too? I've never understood that. I mean, most people keep themselves pretty clean down there. It's not as unhygienic as people make it out to be. Even the really creepy ones that lead in with a grip around your dick in lieu of hello, take regular showers," Sam muses.</p>
<p>It startles a laugh out of Michael, and once again, they're back into high spirits, leaving the seriousness behind them.</p>
<p>A bit further down the dock, Sam untangles himself to lean against a railing, looking out over the water. Michael sits down on the middle of a bench behind him, spreading his arms on the backrest, stretching out his legs crossed at the ankles. Sam finds himself singing to himself. "...<i>Someday, someway, together we will be, baby…</i>"</p>
<p>From behind, Michael chimes in quietly, more of a happy sort of humming.</p>
<p>Sam turns around. "Will you let me hear the original of that song when we get back?"</p>
<p>"Abs'lutely."</p>
<p>"What band is it?" Sam asks curiously. Not that he'd be able to pinpoint the song, but he might have read a biography of the band.</p>
<p>"Michael learns to rock."</p>
<p>Sam sniggers. "That's the band name? <i>Michael</i> learns to rock?”</p>
<p>"Yup," Michael sniggers.</p>
<p>"I feel like I'm not supposed to sing it because that'd be stealing and twisting what it means to you."</p>
<p>“No nonono <i>no</i>. That's not― Music is deeply personal for everybody. We can hear t'same thing and it'll mean different things for us based on our 'xperiences, right? And as we get older, some songs take new meanings. Music is something to be shared and enjoyed by ev'rybody. I think."</p>
<p>Sam goes to the bench and plops himself down ungracefully beside Michael. The night air is balmy, but the sea breeze makes it a bit chilly, so Sam scoots himself closer to take advantage of the warmth that leaks from Michael's body. "I like sharing music with you."</p>
<p>"Same."</p>
<p>They're quiet for a while, looking out over the water, tracking the flight of a seagull, a light dot against a dark backdrop. "This feels like a date," Sam muses.</p>
<p>"It does?"</p>
<p>"Mhm."</p>
<p>"It can be… if you want."</p>
<p>Sam turns his head to find Michael already looking at him. He takes in Michael's alcohol-rosy cheeks, warm, glossy eyes, heavy eyelids, and soft content smile as if he's perfectly happy sitting like this and nothing more. The breeze has ruffled his dark locks into his 'rockstar' hairdo rather than the controlled waves he wears for work. He's beautiful. "Yeah?"</p>
<p>"Mhm," Michael echoes Sam's earlier answer and lets the arm on the backrest of the bench behind Sam come to rest around his shoulders instead. Something excited and bubbly fizzles in Sam's body.</p>
<p>Sam's lip pulls up in a corner. He wets his lips, feeling oddly nervous, and leans in for a kiss. He stops halfway, suddenly uncertain if this is what Michael meant. If he's really allowed to do this? His heart is hammering faster, and it's strange. It's odd how he tingles and thrills for something as simple as a kiss. How he can feel so jubilant and uncertain at the prospect of kissing someone he's already kissed once before.</p>
<p>Michael reads Sam's hesitation as a question and answers it for him by licking his lips and leaning in the rest of the distance. His soft lips touch Sam's, and it hits Sam like an ameliorating thunderclap, taking his heart rate even higher, sending tingles all through his body, making him feel light and floating. Michael moves the hand not holding Sam around the shoulders to cup his cheek gently. They trade several kisses, no tongue involved, just lips slotting together, moving experimentally, trying for a good fit and finding it. Sam distantly wonders if this is how Michael explains why sex is so often called dirty―by showing him how it can be when it feels clean. Sam couldn't even put words on why it feels 'clean' right now. There's a lack of discordance he's never felt, yet he's never realized that there has been discordance before either.</p>
<p>He suddenly remembers where they are. They can be seen. He doesn't want Michael to feel a backlash for this. Not <i>Michael</i>, of all people. He puts a hand on Michael's chest and presses lightly, despite not wanting to stop. Michael leans away the moment he feels resistance and looks at Sam with an eyebrow raised in curiosity.</p>
<p>"You're drunk," Sam states, winded from just the semi-chaste kisses they've traded.</p>
<p>Michael's hand leaves his cheek to lie on the backrest again. "Oh, good. You noticed," he quips with self-deprecating sarcasm and smirks at his lap.</p>
<p>"Someone could see us."</p>
<p>"I didn't think you'd be bothered by that?"</p>
<p>"No. I'm not. I mean, someone you know can see us. I don't want to ruin your reputation or make life difficult for you. Since you're drunk, you might regret this if someone sees you with me."</p>
<p>Michael's smirk draws up further on one side, with warm humor twinkling in his eyes. “Are you worrying about my <i>honor</i>? Is that why you wanted me to stop?"</p>
<p>“I didn’t <i>want</i> to stop, but yeah. Pretty much.”</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it, Sammy. I've had years of practice in telling people to fuck off. I might not march in any pride parades or introduce myself as bi to every stranger passing by, but I'm not ashamed of who and what I am."</p>
<p>Sam likes the way Michael calls him 'Sammy'. It's not belittling; it's affectionate. He makes a face of frustration because he's not getting his point across. "No, uh. What I mean is, they might see you with <i>me</i>. And I'm not someone you, um…" How can he explain without giving himself away completely?</p>
<p>He doesn't have to. Michael scoffs. "Sam. I think you're a freaking gorgeous, wonderful person. I feel relaxed and happy around you. I'm not ashamed of being seen with you. Not like friends and not in more compromising situations. Drunk or sober. Now, if you don't want to kiss me, that's one thing. I'm content just sitting here, talking and joking. <i>But…</i> I’d love to kiss you again. If you want that too. The world may think what it will. As long as you're in on it, I'm down." Michael strokes a lock of hair out of Sam's face with the hand on the arm around Sam's shoulder.</p>
<p>There it is. Another jolt to make him lightheaded and raises goosebumps. Michael, with his winsome, considerate personality and unobtrusive requests. He's so beautiful even when drunk. Sam smiles. "How are you still single?" he wonders.</p>
<p>Michael chuckles. "Now you sound like Nick when he gets sappy drunk."</p>
<p>"It's a valid question," Sam declares, then leans back in for another kiss.</p>
<p>It's hard to tell how long they sit there, kissing, carding hands through hair, tasting each other, only pausing to sip the last of the tequila. Despite Sam being so hard it hurts, and Michael tenting his jeans, they don't go further. It goes from heated make out to slow, sweet kisses, and then back. Shifting in waves, fireworks ignited inside, then fading to embers to warm the heart before igniting again. They separate in an unspoken pause to watch the sunrise paint the ocean.</p>
<p>"I love this feeling," Michael tells him with his eyelids hanging low and a soft, content smile on his kiss-red lips.</p>
<p>"What feeling?"</p>
<p>"When you've made out for so long that you can still feel lips upon yours after you've stopped. Sensory overload. In a good way."</p>
<p>Sam can feel it too. And yeah, he likes it. He likes it because it's Michael's kisses that linger, his lips that continue moving like ghosts. It's not always a pleasant feeling. "Mmh. We should get home. 'M a bit tired."</p>
<p>"Your place, or mine?"</p>
<p>"Yours." At Michael's, nobody can find him. He's safe there. Maybe safer than he'd ever been anywhere.</p>
<p>"Then let's go." Michael gets to his feet, almost tipping over. It leads to yet a new giggle fit in the two of them. But they manage. Arms slung around each other, staggering more than walking, and with frequent pauses to make out, they manage to get themselves back to Michael's in the early morning...</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <tt>He met many animals on his broken-bodied trek. A majestic peafowl shared a meal with him. He was certain you weren't supposed to eat the red mushroom with the white dots, but the colorful bird insisted it was perfectly safe. The mushroom tasted good and made everything as colorful as the peafowl. Things didn't seem so bad. A storm couldn't be so dangerous, could it? And the peafowl was nice, not in the least interested in stealing Little Bird's feathers. The peafowl offered to show Little Bird the way to the mountain, and Little Bird gladly followed him, dazzled by all the pretty colors.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>When they'd walked for a while, Little Bird noticed that the mountain had gotten smaller in the distance, not the other way around. He was torn. Part of him wanted to follow the magnificent bird that insisted with such surety that he knew the way. But when night came, Little Bird decided to trust his eyes instead of the peafowl and snuck away.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Travelling in the dark was hard and dangerous. Other animals kept pushing Little Bird, tripping him up. He scratched himself on thorns, snagged his little feet on roots he couldn't see. Tired and thirsty, he spotted a puddle of water. Three little chipmunks were sitting around the puddle. They didn't seem very dangerous even to a small bird, so Little Bird went to drink. The chipmunks stared at him with their little beady eyes while he drank. He felt more and more uncomfortable under their silent stares. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be drinking water in this puddle? He backed up and turned to leave but fell over. His limbs were heavy. Too heavy to move. He tried to cry out for help, but he couldn't make a sound.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>The chipmunks closed in on him and started pulling at his feathers, tittering amongst themselves. Little Bird couldn't discern what they were saying, but it didn't sound nice even though they laughed. Their little paws weren't strong enough to pull out feathers. Instead, they yanked, twisted, and bent them. It hurt. It hurt something awful. Why would they do that when they could have just asked for one? He could have spared one if they'd asked nicely. They left once they'd finally torn a feather off of him.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>It took a while before Little Bird could move again.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>The next time Little Bird spotted a puddle, he waited to see other animals drink before he quenched his thirst.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>It was a hard trek. Some animals pecked and clawed at him, some wanting feathers, some just wanting to hurt him. It never used to hurt this much before, but his skin was torn and full of scabs that bled any time an animal tore at it. </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Finally, he came out of the woods just to discover that the mountain was further away than he thought. He had to cross the great expanse of flat land.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>He knew he couldn't make it before the storm came. But Little Bird couldn't stop. Not now, when he'd come so far. So he started walking. Every step was painful. Hunger gnawed in his belly, and he was exhausted. But Little Bird wouldn't give up.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Dawn broke, and in the golden light, a big, dark shadow came trotting towards him.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Scared, but too exhausted to run, Little Bird waited for his oncoming demise…</tt>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is why the pairing is tagged, btw. Mike isn't a predator by any definition. It's not ideal for him and Sam to get together, but it isn't a bad thing per se. Mike and Sam have great chemistry, both feeling safe and at ease with each other. Now, I'm not going to judge relationships with a large age gap just because there's an age gap. I can't, since I've almost exclusively dated older guys. But spoiler (that shouldn't be a spoiler considering the main pairing), Sam and Mike won't last forever.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. THE ARCHANGELS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam and Mike's relationship changes and Nick has to deal with it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>On the couch, things start to heat up. First, Michael's shirt comes off, then Sam's. Hands and mouths wander, find sensitive spots, evoke hunger. Michael's fit. They talked about it when they worked out together. Michael goes to the gym once or twice a week in the morning and does some light exercise three or four days a week when he doesn't hit the gym. He'd sculpted his body obsessively for a few years to battle his low self-confidence. Now he just keeps himself honed, has more body fat, and leaner muscles. This is better, Sam thinks. He's ten kinds of gorgeous any way you look at it. Michael pauses minutely when the heat burns the hottest to search for eye contact. He keeps doing that, but it barely registers to Sam. Michael smells good and tastes even better, even with his breath tainted by alcohol.</p>
<p>Sam feels like he could hump himself to an orgasm just by second-basing it here on the couch, but he wants Michael's damned jeans off of him. Some ungraceful struggling to get them off takes them rolling right off of the couch into a giggling heap on the floor. Michael gets to his feet and shucks jeans and boxers in one go. His dick is one of those gravity-defying ones that stand straight up along his belly even when he stands. He helps Sam up, pushing Sam's shorts off of him but leaving his underwear in place.</p>
<p>Michael kisses him, grinding them together, both moaning at the sensation. Michael spins him around and walks them towards the bedroom without stopping kissing. Sam's the one walking backward. He stumbles over the threshold, but Michael's hold keeps him from falling. </p>
<p>"I doubt we'll get that far right now, but just in case, are you a top or bottom?" Michael asks with a smile. "‘Cuz I'm a verse, but if I'm gonna take that monster you're hiding, I need mental preparation."</p>
<p>Sam laughs, suddenly nervous. "I'm a verse too, but I can take anything, so I'll bottom, don't worry about it," he reassures, then yelps when his legs hit the bed, making him tumble backward onto it. Michael follows on top of him, laughing.</p>
<p>"Good to know. That's a pretty bold statement, by the way."</p>
<p>"Experience." </p>
<p>Michael kisses his neck, lips questing down to his collarbone, lower, tongue darting out to circle a nipple. A hand rediscovers the planes of his stomach. Sam gasps, buries fingers in Michael's hair, sucking in his belly to evade the ticklish feeling, pressing his chest up to encourage Michael to nibble. The nervousness grows. He wants to be good for Michael, as Michael's good for him. Wants him to like it. He's getting self-conscious. It's distressing. He <i>knows</i> he’s good at all this. A pained giggle escapes him.</p>
<p>Michael looks up, Sam's nipple between his teeth. "What?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. Nothing. It's just. I'm nervous."</p>
<p>Michael chuckles. "That's normal when you're with someone new. I'm nervous too," he confesses and runs his tongue down to the edge of Sam's ribcage, dragging his teeth along the edge, coaxing a startled gasp from Sam at the newly discovered erogenous zone.</p>
<p>"No. I'm never nervous. That's, that's new. Oh <i>fuck</i>. Do that again?"</p>
<p>Michael takes licking bites along the edge of his ribcage, and Sam squirms and moans. "Feels good?"</p>
<p>“<i>Yes.</i>”</p>
<p>"You're never nervous, huh?"</p>
<p>"N-no. I usually don't care," Sam confesses and grinds upward, seeking friction.</p>
<p>"Yeah? You been with many guys?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"How many?"</p>
<p>"I dunno." Sam's eyes have fallen shut, focused on sensation alone.</p>
<p>"You don't know how many you've been with?" Michael chuckles into his skin, kissing his way down to his side, taking wet, tongue-heavy bites that tickle deliciously.</p>
<p>"No. Maybe a hundred? Maybe less. Don't know, don't care."</p>
<p>Michael starts to laugh, making Sam open his eyes to meet his mischievous gaze. “And <i>you’re</i> nervous? Damn. Now you're giving me performance-anxiety. I've been with, like, five guys. Granted, I've had my fair share of girls, but <i>damn</i>." He starts pulling Sam's underwear down, halting to look up for approval. Sam lifts his ass off the bed to help him, and Michael pulls the underwear off all the way, then retakes his former position to stare hypnotically at Sam's dick, biting his lip. He takes Sam's dick in his hand, squeezing lightly, feeling his girth. Sam sucks in a breath. Then Michael feels his length with his cheeks and lips, dragging a finger over the glans to catch some precome. "How old were you anyway, losing your virginity, if you've already been with that many? No offense or anything, but you're only nineteen. You've been pretty damned busy."</p>
<p>Sam searches for the right answer. He can't remember what he usually says. How old was he supposed to have been when he lost his virginity? 17? No. He <i>is</i> 17. That's not it. What is the correct answer? No, no, no. When <i>did</i> he lose his virginity, for real? He can't remember. He can't remember. <i>He can't remember!</i> Instead, he's being bombarded by imagery that clogs up his airways and steals his breath. He's choking on it. The walls are covered with faded, flowery wallpaper, torn in one corner by the ceiling. The ceiling has a stain from an old water leak. Outside of the window, he can hear Dean call out to the friend that came to pick him up for school. The friend's mother's voice yells to Dean to hurry up. He can't breathe because dad's too thick, making him choke. But― </p>
<p>A blanket's thrown over him, wrapping him tight, covering his nakedness. Michael's beside him, whispering, "Shh. It's okay. We're stopping. You're okay. Just breathe. Take it easy. No pressure. Shhh." The walls here are wine-colored, with black and white photos and a few band posters. There's no stain on the ceiling. Michael's arm holds him tight to his chest, but not so tight he can't move. His eyes sting, and his throat is still tight, but he can breathe again, and he sucks in deep breaths as the panic dissipates. "What happened?"</p>
<p>"You tell me, Sammy. I don't know. Panic attack?" Michael's eyes are concerned, his smile soft and barely there.</p>
<p>
  <i>Panic attack?</i>
</p>
<p>"I'm good now. We can go on."</p>
<p>Michael's smile gets broader, less genuine, not masking his concern. "No, Sammy. We're not continuing. I don't even know if it's okay for me to be holding you like this. Is it?"</p>
<p>"Of course. But we have to go on. I don't want to ruin it. I want it to be good for you! At least let me give you a BJ. I'll make you come. I'll make it worth it. Promise," Sam pleads, panic lingering. He'd ruined it. It was so good, and he ruined it. </p>
<p>“<i>Sshh</i>. No, Sam. Something happened, and you were no longer enjoying it. I don't want to go on after that. I don't care if I come or not. That's not my turn on. I'm turned on by my partner's want. I don't know why, but it left you. So let's sleep on it, okay? If you want me tomorrow, maybe we can pick up where we left off? We're both tired and drunk. It'll be better when we're sober, okay?" His smile, once again genuine, holds reassurance and nothing but his ever-present warmth.</p>
<p>Sam relaxes minutely. His thoughts are still a jumble, heart hammering and anxiety crawling all over. "Okay…"</p>
<p>"You want me to sleep with you? Or should I take the couch?"</p>
<p>"Don't leave."</p>
<p>"I won't." Michael hits the lights, then curls up close, holding onto Sam. The blanket separates their bodies, hides Sam's nakedness. He thinks he won't ever be able to fall asleep. But about 24 hours awake and too much alcohol take its toll. He doesn't notice when slumber takes him over.</p><hr/>
<p>Michael closes the door to the bedroom carefully after making sure Sam isn't waking up. He pulls on his underwear and shirt, finds his phone, sits down on the couch, and calls Nick.</p>
<p>"Michael, you asshole. It's barely 8 AM on a Saturday. What have I said about calling before noon on my sleep-in day?" Nick growls sleep-rough and quarrelsome.</p>
<p>Nick could use some practice on his hellos and how-do-you-dos.</p>
<p>"Nicky now's not the time. You're right. Something's up with him. We were about to have sex but I said or did something and he triggered big time."</p>
<p>"Are you drunk? And who're you talking about?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm still drunk. And I'm talking about Sam. He's back."</p>
<p>It's quiet on the other end of the line while Nick goes from trying to fall asleep without hanging up to all the gears starting up at once in his brain. "Sam? <i>My</i> Sam?”</p>
<p>Michael frowns. “<i>No</i>. Sam's Sam, you dick. You don't own him."</p>
<p>Michael can envision the eye roll signified by the extra beat of silence. "Oh, I'm sorry, princess. But we <i>are</i> talking about Winchester?" he says sarcastically.</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Oh. I thought you said you were about to have sex with him."</p>
<p>Despite everything, Michael's lip twitches into a smirk. "I did, yes. We were. In fact, he's naked in my bed as we speak. Sleeping. Probably exhausted from making out for hours," he teases. It's a backbone reaction. Brotherly law. Got to poke the bear and rub salt in the wounds.</p>
<p>There's a sound that sounds suspiciously like someone's screaming muffled into a pillow. Then Nick's back on the line again. "He's back, and you didn't think to call?" he asks, ignoring the whole sex-bit.</p>
<p>"I did. Came directly to your voicemail. Figured I'd try calling again once he left, but he's been here since Thursday. I plan to bring him along when we meet up if he's down with it. But he's sleeping now, and I think you're right about everything."</p>
<p>"Is he alright?"</p>
<p>"He says so, but I'd say hell no. He's very much not even remotely alright. And I'm thinking, all the things he told you on the phone when he had tequila with Steve, maybe should be taken at face value. He says things that sound like jokes mostly because if it isn't, it's friggin horrible. I don't think he's joking."</p>
<p>"Alright. What did he say? What happened?"</p>
<p>Michael recounts the chain of events and key conversations. Normally Michael would be a whole lot more careful about giving away personal details. But Sam hadn't told him he couldn't talk about it, and this is a matter of concern that overrode courtesy, just like Nick's breaking and entering. He doesn't leave details out to spare Nick. If Nick had been in active pursuit of Sam or been dating him, Michael wouldn't have touched the guy. But you can't just call dibs on a person with feelings and then do nothing. People are not property. Nick's doing a fine job of stowing the jealousy Michael knows he feels. Michael explains what happened in bed as best he can. "I'm not sure what happened. One minute he was actively enjoying himself with me; the next, he tensed up, his face went blank, or scared? Kind of? And he was staring at nothing. Like he could no longer see me. Didn't answer when spoken to. Didn't react when I waved in front of his eyes. I put a blanket over him and spoke reassuringly to him, and then he came back, freaked the hell out, close to tears. The worst part is that he immediately wanted to go on because he didn't want me to be disappointed. 'You didn't come. Let me at least give you a BJ’, like, <i>hello</i>.”</p>
<p>"Fuck. He obviously doesn't know how you work. Come on. It isn't the whole world to lose one's boner mid-play. Shit happens."</p>
<p>"Oh, no. He didn't lose his boner. I don't think he went soft until he'd fallen asleep. But he sure as hell wasn't turned on after whatever I triggered. What was that, anyway? I thought panic attack, but it didn't look like any panic attack I've ever had or seen."</p>
<p>"Sounds more like a flashback to me."</p>
<p>"Yes, maybe. Whatever it was, I worry for him."</p>
<p>"Mmh. Keep him close. And bring him with you. I need to see him. I <i>need</i> to.”</p>
<p>Michael could relate. A month of worrying their asses off meant a need of seeing with their own eyes. "I'll try."</p><hr/>
<p>Sam wakes up in a dusky room. The bed smells nice. It smells of Michael. He's hungover, and his head pounds when he moves. There's muffled music coming from beyond the door. He's alone in the bedroom. He strains his ears to hear the song. It's nothing he recognizes. He sits up. There are clothes and a towel laid out for him. There's even a new toothbrush in its plastic wrapper. On the bedside table on his side, there are two glasses and a pill. Both glasses have notes attached. One saying 'DRinK mE' in horrible penmanship―nothing like the beautiful cursive of the note saying, '<i>Call Michael!</i>' left in his motel room―and one of the notes has an arrow drawn towards the pill and 'swALLow mE' written under the prompt to drink.</p>
<p>It makes him think of Alice In Wonderland. He smiles a little. He takes the pill and the glass of juice, feeling just a tad bit apprehensive about swallowing a pill without knowing what it is. But it's Michael providing it, and it looks like a regular painkiller. So he pops it in and drains the glass. The other glass looks more conspicuous. It's green, for starters. Some kind of smoothie or health drink. He's a bit queasy, and he hesitates for a beat before taking a careful sip. It's… it's actually not half bad. It's thick and a bit hard to drain, but it's easy on the stomach and has a fresh taste. Outside of the closed door, he hears Michael sing along with the song currently playing. "...<i>But now there's nowhere to hide, since you pushed my love aside... I'm out of my head, hopelessly devoted to you…</i>"</p>
<p>He gets that butterfly-feeling in his belly again, with a burst of affection for the man on the other side of the door.</p>
<p>He thinks back on the day and night before. He'd been drunk, yes, but he remembers <i>everything</i>. Including his mortifying failure to complete.</p>
<p>
  <i>What the hell happened, anyway?</i>
</p>
<p>He'd wanted it. He'd wanted it really bad. He'd felt so safe. Yeah, he'd been nervous, which was really odd. He'd felt like… he's not sure. </p>
<p>Dean had had a Madonna phase. It had been very short, either because of friends' ribbing or dad's disapproval. But a memory of Dean dancing in front of a mirror singing '<i>Like a virgin. Oow! Touched for the very first time.</i>' pops up in his mind.</p>
<p>He's not sure if that's how it felt.</p>
<p>He doesn't know what it feels like to be a virgin.</p>
<p>But it had felt new. Like he hadn't really experienced it before.</p>
<p>Yesterday it had felt like he'd never felt anything like it. Today when he thinks about it, he believes what he felt with Brady had been very close. But not quite, and he can't put the finger on why.</p>
<p>There must be several reasons. </p>
<p>When Kelvin took him to the cabin by the sea, he'd felt something along these lines too.</p>
<p>Steve… Steve never gave him any of these butterfly-tingly-nervous feelings. Sex was just getting off, but on a personal level, that was rare for Sam. He hadn't wanted to blow Steve when he first did it. It had been something akin to kissing a frog that turned into a prince… or a bro, if you will.</p>
<p>No, the closest comparison he has to what he'd felt yesterday with Michael is Brady. And, come to think of it, <i>Nick.</i> Talking to Nick, meeting his gaze, being close… all that gave the nerves, the butterflies, the fireworks he'd felt with Michael yesterday, only to a vastly greater extent. Thinking about Nick right now doesn't make him feel much of anything. It's a lifetime since they last saw each other. A lot can happen in thirty days. A lot <i>had</i> happened. A <i>lot</i>.</p>
<p>His stomach turns just thinking about it. And that's just the parts he can remember. It had gone well enough if you don't count the mugging, bereaving him of the almost 900 bucks he'd earned on his way back home. But something inside of him kept resisting like it never had before, making him feel like shit.</p>
<p>Michael didn't make him feel like shit. On the contrary, everything about being with him put Sam at ease. So what separated Michael and Brady? Why was it different with Michael?</p>
<p>Could it be as simple as how it began? Like, Brady started with Sam blowing him like a favor, and they hadn't been on the same wavelength about what was happening between them. And Brady wasn't out. Sam had been a dirty secret. None of that applied to Michael. Or maybe… Sam's not sure what did happen between them and where that left them now. </p>
<p>He spots his phone charging on Michael's side of the bed, reaches for it, and calls Claire. It goes straight to voicemail. He texts her, asking for his money back, then he gets out of bed, takes the clothes (only the shorts are his own), the towel, and the toothbrush, and exits the bedroom. He can see Michael in the kitchen. He's got his back turned, moving his hips raunchily to a new song while cooking, singing along. “<i>...Come on, babe, why don't we paint the town? And all that jazz…</i>" He's wearing nothing but a pair of low hanging sweatpants, and his back muscles move in a way that…</p>
<p>Sam's heart does a double skip. He hurries into the bathroom. He doesn't feel fresh enough to face Michael. He's developing preferences. It's been creeping on him. It's not about abs or a nice ass or hair colors―it's about backs. Broad shoulders and a dip in the spine like on a healthy pony gets to him. Especially paired with the two indentations by the base of the spine. And not those bulky triangular backs of bodybuilders. No, it should be fit or built, but not brawny. And he'd take some extra body fat over none any day of the week.</p>
<p>He shouldn't have preferences. It makes his job <i>so much harder</i>. And he's going to have to work if Claire doesn't repay him. </p>
<p>After a shower and brushing his teeth, he feels a lot better. He puts on Michael's underwear, and his shorts then stares at himself in the mirror. His lips are chapped and dark cherry red from kissing, and he can <i>still</i> feel Michael's lips on his. The jury's still out on whether it's a good thing or not. It all depends on what happens when he faces Michael.</p>
<p>He's got stubble. It's annoying. He shaved what? Two or three days ago? He considers using Michael's razor but decides against it. He needs to ask first. He pulls on the T-shirt. It's just on the right side of not quite too short but fits perfectly over his chest and shoulders. It's a black shirt with a print of Eddie, the Iron Maiden mascot. It makes him think of Dean driving the Impala, blasting '<i>Fear of the Dark</i>' loud enough to almost blast the old speakers, drumming with one hand and miming along. Dad would be so mad if he knew Dean blasted the speakers that high. 'Come on, Sammy! <i>This</i> is music! Fucking feel it!' Dean bites his lip, scrunching up his nose as he headbangs along with the guitar solo, trying to coax Sam into jamming along. Dean kept his eyes on the road enough for Sam not to worry. Where were they going? Library. Dean was driving him to the library one town over. A bullshit excuse for Sam to be with Dean and for Dean to get to drive the Impala.</p>
<p>There's a girl working in a music store across from the library. Dean will hang out there while Sam browses the library. When Sam gets back, Dean will sit in the back of the store and strum on a guitar that he'll swiftly rehang amongst the others when Sam comes in. Sam will ask him if he plays, he'll say no. Sam will ask him about the girl, and he'll be confused for a couple of seconds before telling Sam it didn't pan out. Then Dean will suggest they take the long way home, and Sam will agree with great enthusiasm because it means more time with Dean driving with twinkling eyes and rosy, apple-cheeked glee.</p>
<p>Sam's not sure if this is a real memory or not. If it is, it's fairly recent. From when he's 14 or 15. They'd been living in some town Sam can't remember the name of, but he does remember it was Tennessee because it was close to Nashville, and Dean kept badgering dad about moving there.</p>
<p>It stresses Sam the hell out because he can't figure out if it's real or just a figment of his imagination caused by missing Dean. If it is real, it's so disconcerting since it's a good memory, something he'd want to remember. So why hasn't he until now? Why would his mind blot out the good stuff?</p>
<p>"<i>Laaaaa lala lala laala…</i>" Sam's shy when he steps into the kitchen. Michael turns around with a huge smile, still singing. "<i>Good morning, Samshine. The Earth says hello. You twinkle above us, we twinkle below…</i>"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. "I'm pretty sure they're not singing 'Samshine'."</p>
<p>"Pfft. Details." Michael waves a hand dismissively. "You're just in time for brunch. Have a seat. You a coffee drinker? It's not good for you if you have a hangover, but if you're usually heavy on the caffeine, it might lead to a worse headache due to withdrawals."</p>
<p>"Coffee, please."</p>
<p>"Coming right up, Samshine. Have a seat."</p>
<p>"I thought you said you didn't cook?"</p>
<p>"Oh. No, um. I can cook passably. I'm a grown-ass man who's been living alone for years. I can take care of myself. I just wasn't up for cooking when you called. Too stressed out?" Michael serves him a plate of omelet, a cup of coffee (holding up milk and sugar in a question Sam declines with a head shake), and a big glass of juice, leaving the juice carton on the table. Then he serves himself the same, except using a scary amount of sugar in his coffee, and sits down.</p>
<p>Sam pokes around in his omelet, spears a chunk, and puts it in his mouth. "Mmm. T's d'lichsh!" He tries to say with his teeth closed and his mouth full.</p>
<p>Michael grins. "You like? Good. It's my own recipe. Basically, chop up everything that can pass as vegetables in the fridge, fry it, add bacon, and then eggs and spices. ...If you can call that a recipe."</p>
<p>"Is this cucumber?"</p>
<p>"Yup."</p>
<p>"Didn't expect cucumber to taste good while fried."</p>
<p>Michael shrugs and digs into his food.</p>
<p>The silence that settles is only disturbed by their eating and drinking sounds, and it starts to get a bit awkward. Sam keeps sneaking glances at Michael, looking away when he notices.</p>
<p>"What?" Michael asks when the food is more than half gone, and the awkwardness starts becoming tangible.</p>
<p>"I, uh… I'm sorry. For yesterday."</p>
<p>Michael puts down his fork and takes a big drink of his juice. "What part?"</p>
<p>"For freaking out? I ruined it for you. I owe you―"</p>
<p>"Stop it right there," Michael interrupts, face suddenly dead-serious. “You don’t <i>owe</i> me anything. Okay? I'm not… yes, I did want to have sex with you, but not like that. I told you… do you remember what we said and did yesterday, or were you too drunk?"</p>
<p>"I remember everything. I've never been blackout drunk."</p>
<p>"Good. Because I told you, my biggest turn on is my partner being turned on. And that's no lie. I'm not interested in sex as a means of getting off. I can do that with my hand. It's a game for two players, okay?"</p>
<p>Sam pushes some food on his plate around, not looking at Michael. He nods.</p>
<p>"Now, we can talk about what happened if you like. If you want to talk about it?"</p>
<p>"I don't know what happened. It's… it's never happened before. One minute I was gagging for it, the next…"</p>
<p>"You were no longer in the bedroom with me," Michael finishes for him.</p>
<p>"Yeah… How do you know?"</p>
<p>"You became unresponsive. I snapped my fingers in front of your face, and you didn't react."</p>
<p>"God, that's embarrassing."</p>
<p>"Embarrassing? No, no, no. Not at all. It would have been embarrassing if I'd continued without noticing." Michael gives him a lopsided smile and reaches out to squeeze his wrist.</p>
<p>He starts pulling his hand back, but Sam swiftly captures it and brings it up to his mouth to place a kiss on the knuckles, then twines their fingers together, seeing Michael's smile go soft.</p>
<p>"Wasn't sure I was allowed to do that today," Michael says.</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"Because we were drunk yesterday. Inhibitions lowered and spirits high and all that? Maybe you had regrets?"</p>
<p>"No. Do you?"</p>
<p>Michael shakes his head. "But maybe we should talk about it. I want you to come along with me today, not only to the gig but also to help set it up and hang with us before the gig. Is that okay?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure. I'd like that."</p>
<p>"You said yesterday that everybody keeps drawing lines that you don't understand."</p>
<p>"Uhuh?"</p>
<p>"I'm thinking, you're the one who has to draw this line, Samshine."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>Michael lets go of his hand and pushes his chair from the table to drag it to sit beside Sam, facing him. Sam turns around, so Michael's knees are bracketed between his. Michael's warm hands come to rest on his thighs. "What I mean is, where does this leave us? My brother… Nick's in love with you. A month without you hasn't changed that. And last time you saw each other, it's my understanding that you were in love with him?"</p>
<p>"I… I guess I was? I dunno."</p>
<p>Michael's thumbs rub his legs where they're rested. "Mmh. I like you, Sam. I like you a lot. You and I, from my perspective, our relationship can go whichever way. We can be great friends, or we can be boyfriends, or… If this is just casual, it will work only for a little while before I have to pull the brakes. I value the friendship too much to toe the line if I feel that my feelings grow too strong in a non-platonic manner. But I can promise you that I won't do what Brady did. I know myself well enough, and I'd like to think I'm mature enough to talk about my emotions even if I have to make myself vulnerable. So you don't have to be surprised by someone breaking up with you when you don't know you were dating them, to begin with." He winks with a mischievous quirk on his lips.</p>
<p>Sam's heart is hammering in his chest. It's stressful, even if it's meant to be reassuring. "Can I… do I have to decide right now?"</p>
<p>Michael smirks. "No. Not at all. But it would be helpful to know what level of intimacy I'm allowed."</p>
<p>That makes it easier. He leans forward, licking his lips, aiming for a kiss. Michael meets him halfway. It's still there, the jolt that thrills and tickles and makes him feel lightheaded. Michael's lips are chafed cherry-raw just like his. His mouth tastes of juice and lingering coffee and of his own, personal taste. Sam wants to keep this. "This level, but not dating?" he gets out between one kiss and another.</p>
<p>"Casual it is, then." Michael's words are smiled onto his lips before they're drowned by another, deeper kiss, and Michael's hand comes up to cup his neck.</p>
<p>It's not as simple as with Steve. With Steve and Claire, it was easy to say, 'This is just casual' because he knew he didn't want to be tied up in it. With Brady, it was easy to say, 'This is just casual' because he <i>didn't </i> know he wanted to be tied up in it. But as it feels right now, the prospect of holding onto this is more alluring than being free.</p>
<p>Yet, he isn't free.</p>
<p>Kelvin has him shackled.</p>
<p>He pushes the thought out of his mind for now.</p><hr/>
<p>A few hours later, he's even more uncertain about the 'casual' status. He's tapping away merrily on his laptop and Michael's by his piano, by all appearance writing music. They haven't said a word to each other for 90 minutes, and Sam's relaxed and happy enough to melt through the couch from sheer contentment.</p>
<p>"You know, this is one of the reasons my relationships don't work out," Michael suddenly muses without looking away from what he's writing in the notebook on top of his piano.</p>
<p>"How so?"</p>
<p>"The amount of time I spend tinkering with my music. They find it cool in the beginning, then they get bored when they don't get enough attention."</p>
<p>Sam thinks of Brady and how he'd badger Sam to do something else other than writing all the time. Like watch a movie or go out or talk. "You've given me plenty of attention."</p>
<p>Michael snorts in amusement. "Are you always this good at entertaining yourself?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I had trouble deciding between reading a book series on your bookshelf that I haven't read before or writing. But I haven't had access to my laptop for a month."</p>
<p>"What book series?"</p>
<p>"Supernatural? By Carver Edlund?"</p>
<p>"Oooo. You’ve <i>got</i> to read them. Those are the reason we call ourselves the Archangels." There's a strange twinkle in Michael's eyes now like there's a great joke hidden somewhere.</p>
<p>"Yeah? They're that good?"</p>
<p>Michael shrugs. "You be the judge. They're about two brothers, Sean and Jamie, who hunt supernatural creatures across the US. They have an angel sidekick named Cassiel too, but he doesn't show up until book four or five, I think."</p>
<p>"You've all read them?"</p>
<p>"All kids at Chuck's wind up reading them at one point or another," Michael tells him, still with that hidden-joke smirk.</p>
<p>Sam closes his laptop and goes to fetch the first book.</p><hr/>
<p>"Jesus Christ! How fast do you read?" Michael remarks, glancing at Sam in the passenger seat. Sam stuck his nose in the book and has barely come up for air since. </p>
<p>"It's only, like 350 pages," Sam answers without looking up.</p>
<p>Michael's short laugh is slightly hysterical. "Yes, but you just started, and you're halfway through. Are you just looking at the pages before flipping them?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles and looks up. "Yeah, so I read pretty fast, I know. I'm good at memorizing the stuff I read too."</p>
<p>"That's cool. Pretty damned cool. What do you think so far?"</p>
<p>"Jamie reminds me of Dean. In the first few chapters, I found the book a bit… I dunno. I wouldn't say boring. But, then… all the monster stuff isn't really what catches me. It's the relationships and all the stuff going on inside of them. Their thoughts and feelings? The subtext and everything that goes unsaid. The longer I read, the better it becomes."</p>
<p>"You're in luck if you want to keep reading. Nick has all of them too."</p>
<p>"I'm not going to read while I hang out," Sam chuckles. "You're better entertainment than that."</p>
<p>"If you say so." Michael hits the blinkers and turns onto a dirt road. "We're nearly there."</p>
<p>"Nick lives here?" Sam asks, memorizing the page number he's on before closing the book and looking around. They're in the outskirts, where suburbs shift into the countryside. Houses are spaced too far apart to disturb neighbors if you throw a house party, but not far enough to feel isolated. "Does he own land?"</p>
<p>"He has a yard, if that's what you mean."</p>
<p>"Do you have barbecues in it?" Sam asks, delighted at the thought of lazing outdoors by a grill.</p>
<p>Michael laughs. "No. I'd love it if we did. But there's a good reason we don't. You'll see."</p>
<p>They turn up the driveway of a fairly big house. There's a van, a motorbike, and a yellow beetle already parked outside. The reason no barbecues take place is pretty obvious. The front yard is pure wilderness. It's hard to imagine it's ever seen a mower, or the bushes and two knobbly trees ever have been pruned. "Oh."</p>
<p>"Yes. Exactly. Nick's renovated the house to a fairly good condition, but the most he's done about the yard is go stand on the back porch to make disgusted noises at it."</p>
<p>Sam laughs. "Does he have the equipment for yard work?"</p>
<p>"Beats me," Michael answers and parks behind the beetle.</p><hr/>
<p>"Are they here? Is Samster with him?" Gabe asks, trying to shove Nick out of the way to beat him to the door. The questions are entirely redundant since Nick's been with Gabe the whole fucking time. But they had heard a car come up the driveway. It's got to be Michael.</p>
<p>Gabe's a fucking squirrel, diving under Nick's arm when he fails to push him out of the way, then darting towards the window beside the door to peek outside. "It's them! Both of them."</p>
<p>Nick's heart makes a double beat. Instead of opening the door and going directly out to greet them, he peeks out from above Gabe's head.</p>
<p>Mikey and Sam's outside of Michael's car. Michael's leaning on his car, fingers hooked in Sam's pockets while Sam's arms are resting on his shoulders. Their heads are close together, talking, looking far too intimate and familiar for Nick's jealous heart. He's having a shitload of feelings right now. Pure joy at seeing Sam again, relief, stupid fucking butterflies in his belly, and corrosive, possessive toxin pumping in his bloodstream.</p>
<p>There's a world of difference in theoretically knowing that for anyone who can put up with Michael's sometimes reclusive habits, his music obsession, and his attachment to his brothers, he's probably the best type of boyfriend anyone can have. And <i>feeling</i> that it’s okay for Michael to have his hands all over <i>his</i> Sam. If it wasn't for his stupid fucking gut feeling, he'd been all over Sam ages ago.</p>
<p>Sam and Michael separate and turn towards the house. Gabe tears the door open and launches himself at Sam, running and hug-tackling him so hard he loses his balance and falls over backward with Gabe on top of him shouting, "Yooo, Samster!"</p>
<p>When Nick catches up, Gabe's straddling Sam, Michael's nearly doubling over from laughter, and Sam's gasping for air, laughing. He's his usual dimpled gorgeousness, only he's beefed up a bit. No longer as skinny, arms and face―painfully red the last time Nick saw him―have gotten a healthy tan. His cheeks and chin are covered with a short scruff. He looks ten times more beautiful than before.</p>
<p>It's not fucking fair. No wonder Mikey's all over that. Anybody in their right mind would be.</p>
<p>"<i>Staph!</i>" Sam wheezes between laughter. "If you keep bouncing like that, you're gonna give me a boner!"</p>
<p>"Watch it, Gabe. That thing pops up and he'll spear you. It'll poke right out of your mouth," Michael laughs. </p>
<p><i>Not boyfriends, then,</i> Nick surmises. Michael isn't as jealous as Nick is, but he isn't about to share with anyone once he's paired off.</p>
<p>"At least I won't fall off," Gabe jokes.</p>
<p>"You know how I wondered if we were close enough for me to hug you for too long, Sam? Gabe doesn't have that sense of boundaries," Michael informs Sam, still laughing.</p>
<p>"Duly noted," Sam giggles resting his hands on Gabe's thighs like he's completely at ease with having a not-quite stranger straddling his crotch area as a way of greeting. Truth is, Gabe's sense of personal boundaries is more finely tuned than both Nick and Michael's. He just chooses to ignore it more frequently.</p>
<p>Nick goes to stand beside Gabe and kicks his leg. "Hey, midget. Get off and let the rest of us say hello to the wayward son."</p>
<p>"You shouldn't call 'em midgets. It's offensive," Sam offers with a lopsided smirk, managing to look fucking superior even on his back with another man on top of himself.</p>
<p>"Oh yes. A major concern of mine. Rhetorics," Nick muses sarcastically. He bends at the waist, hands behind his back to get his head level with Gabe, fake sweet smile directed Gabe's way. "I'm sorry, halfling. Did I hurt your precious feelings?"</p>
<p>Gabe cackles. "Not even a little bit. But you'd better watch it, or I'll bite your ankles."</p>
<p>"Pfft." Nick turns his head towards Sam, who's looking at him, he's smirking, but Nick can't read the look in his eyes. Nick tries not to notice how Sam's shirt has rucked up to reveal a dark happy trail. He'd had a smart remark planned, but his brain goes blank, staring into those hazel green eyes. The pause goes on juuust one second too long for any witty comebacks. He <i>knows</i> his stupid fucking brothers have him made because they both snigger.</p>
<p>Sam suddenly sits up, rolling forward, displacing Gabe, and getting to his feet. He spins around and takes two steps to get all up in Nick's business. Back straight, he looks down his nose on Nick, all challenge and arrogance. It's nothing Nick recognizes in him since before he disappeared. He's goddam fucking tall. Taller than Nick. Especially when he's standing straight like he is now. He pulls up his lip in a sneer, and says, "<i>Midget.</i>"</p>
<p>
  <i>Little shit.</i>
</p>
<p>The arrogance only holds for a second before he bites his lip over a smile, eyes twinkling with mischief and merriment. He ducks his head and pulls Nick in for a hug. "Just kidding. Good to see you again, Nick."</p>
<p>It's not fucking fair.</p>
<p>It's not fair how perfect Sam feels against him when he can smell Michael's shampoo on his hair. Or how his belly is flip-flopping like a stranded fish and his heart doing a metal-drum solo. "Same, you little shit. You pull a disappearing act like this again, I'll rip your heart out."</p>
<p>"That sounds like a reason for avoidance, not a reason not to disappear," Sam quips, breath tickling his neck, and he fucking hopes the heat keeps any goosebumps at bay. Sam speaks again before Nick has a chance to answer. "Thanks for paying my rent."</p>
<p>"You're welcome. And I apologize for breaking into your room," Nick deadpans, not the least bit regretful.</p>
<p>"You can come to my room any time, short stuff," Sam sniggers and starts pulling away.</p>
<p>"Hey, you might be taller than me, but I can still bend you in half, scrawny." Nick wants to facepalm the moment the words are out. He didn’t <i>mean</i> for it to be an innuendo. He swears he didn't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're welcome to try, big guy," Sam teases, stepping away and turning in Michael's direction but keeping eye contact over his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Make that offer when your balls have dropped, and we'll see," Nick riposts as a reminder that Sam's a minor. He's still 60% certain of that. 50%. 40%. <i>Fuck.</i></p>
<p>Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he slides his arm around Michael, who <i>of-fucking-course</i> is sniggering at Nick, and places a kiss on Mikey's temple. Michael swings towards Sam to whisper something in his ear. Sam shakes his head, grinning, whispers a response, and both of them snigger.</p>
<p>He fucking hates them both. All of them, because Gabe's sniggering at him too. He can still feel how Sam's body felt pressed against his, and the scent of him lingers in his nostrils. </p>
<p>This is going to be hell.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <tt>The shadow took the shape of a big dog as it came closer. It was almost as big as the wolf Little Bird had met. Its fur was tan and black, tongue lolling and canine teeth sharp and white. It stopped to sniff Little Bird curiously. Little Bird squeezed his eyes shut, shivering in fear. Then the dog sat on its haunches, one ear perked, the other flopping to one side. "Hi! I'm a dog—a German Shepherd. I'm a working dog, but I'm not working now. Want to play?" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird opened his eyes and looked at it. Its tail thump-thump-thumped on the ground when their eyes met. It had the wolf's shape and size, and its teeth were as sharp as a wolf's, but its eyes were playful and friendly.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>”Play? I, I don't know how to do that," Little Bird confessed, confused by the unprecedented situation.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>"  It's easy," the Shepherd assured him. "Take a stick and throw it. I'll fetch it. It's fun!" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird looked dubiously at the large dog, then he looked around for a stick. He saw sticks large enough for the dog to carry easily and looked at his tiny feet. "But I can't lift sticks that big. And I can't throw very far. I'm just a small bird." </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>The dog scratched behind an ear with one of his hind legs. Tufts of hair came loose and fell to the ground. "That doesn't matter. Pick one you can throw. Playing isn't about the size of the sticks or how far you can throw. It's about doing it together. Come on, give it a go!" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird was skeptical, but the dog was friendly, and he didn't want to disappoint it. So he looked around for a stick and found one no bigger than a toothpick. Then he hurled it with all his might. It landed 6 feet away. That might not seem like much, but to a tiny bird, it was a great accomplishment. Still, it took the Shepherd only one leap to get to it. He picked it up carefully not to accidentally swallow it and brought it back to Little Bird, dropping it at his feet with tail wag-wag-wagging and ears perked. "That was fun! Do it again!" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird did, laughing in exhilaration when the Shepherd brought it back. The dog didn't care if he didn't get to run far and wide. He was overjoyed to have someone to play with. So was Little Bird. But then the wind picked up, and Little Bird was reminded of his mission. "I had fun. But I have to go now." </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Okay," said the Shepherd, ears drooping in sad acceptance. "Let me just kiss you goodbye. Dogs do that. We like to kiss." </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird agreed that it was okay, and the dog came over to lick him with his giant tongue. Suddenly the Shepherd jumped away, all upset and distressed. "Dagnabit! Good grief! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that!" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" What happened?" asked Little Bird, all confused. He hadn't noticed anything wrong. In fact, he'd decided that dog-kisses felt really good, warm, and cleansing.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" I kissed you, and a feather almost came off!" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" But they're soft and downy?" Little Bird pointed out, utterly befuddled.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Yes, they are. They're soft, and fluffy, and silken, and cute, and all kinds of wonderful," the dog agreed.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" But… don't you want one to come off, so you can keep it for yourself?" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Oh, no! Bird feathers are meant for birds. What makes them so wonderful is not how soft they are, but how adorable they make you look. I can still smell them even when they're attached to you. Still feel them against my nose, still appreciate their looks, and still hear them rustle, even if you're the one wearing them. Therefore, I don't need them to come off to keep them, you see?" the Shepherd explained while tilting his head, so his big ears flopped to one side.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>This gave Little Bird the strangest sensation in his chest…</tt>
</p><hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. THE ARCHANGELS II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick's happy to have Sam around and Mike's struggling.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Slurs<br/>I mean. Steve's talking. Slurs will happen.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>He's right. It is hell.</p><p>Yet somehow, it works.</p><p>It works when Sam shows his <i>complete lack of taste</i> in motor vehicles when he bonds with Gabe over Gabe's shitty, falling-to-pieces ugly, yellow 1959 VW beetle deluxe sedan, that's held together mostly by duct tape and prayers when there's a perfectly good Yamaha sports bike right beside it. Yeah, sure. Nick would have loved to own a flashy piece of Harley Davidson craftsmanship. But he isn't about to half-ass it when he buys that, and right now he simply can't afford a piece of loving engineering brilliance, so he's settling for a crotch rocket that can leave suckers in the dust, rear, and in every possible way give the finger at asshole drivers clogging up the roads in the mornings. It's a damn fine bike, even without the excess of sexy chrome and leather. Sam should see that instead of cooing at a car he'll barely fit in anyway.</p><p>You know where Sam would fit? On the back of his bike, arms wrapped around him slicked to his back.</p><p>It works when Sam helps them carry their stuff to the van, checking Nick out of the way with his hip, with a teasing quirk to his lip. When they squeeze past each other way too close in doorways, holding eye contact all the way. When he hands Sam a rolled-up cable and Sam grabs his hand instead of the cable, sliding off to take the object but leaving a blazing trail of static electricity in his wake. </p><p>It works while the four of them banter in the van, even when Mikey and Sam fall silent and a glance to the back reveals them kissing. Not the tonsil-exam way, but the slow, intimate way that melts your heart and sets your soul on fire rather than your body. Nick wants to ram his fist through the dashboard, but sure. He can deal. (<strike>No!</strike>)</p><p>It works through unloading and setting up the stage, showing Sam how things work. Through soundcheck, when Michael sticks a mic in Sam's face, telling him to sing with them. Sam turns a brilliant scarlet and flees in panic as if Michael had shoved a viper under his nose. It takes a moment extra before any of the brothers can go on due to laughing so hard, all while Sam lingers in the front of the locale, eyeing them suspiciously as if he's convinced they'll chase after him and force him to sing. The soundcheck evolves into a full-blown performance of one of the new songs they've rehearsed. How could it not, with Sam watching them, eyes lighting up and sweet, kiss-abused lips parting in wonder, being drawn back to the stage. Nick has the lead on it, '<i>Legendary</i>' by Welshly Arms, and by the time he hits the chorus, Nick thinks '<i>Fuck Mikey</i>' and focuses all his energy on Sam, channeling the power of the feelings Sam ignite in him into his performance. "<i> 'Cause we're gonna be legends! Gonna get their attention! What we're doing here ain't just scary. It's about to be legendary.</i>" Michael's the one to laugh in delight as they've finished, showing the goosebumps on his arms to Nick, complimenting him for nailing the song.</p><p>It works when they go to eat. They decide to eat on the docks, and Michael sends Gabe to buy burgers. Nick thinks he's fucking insane, but Michael casts a pointed look at Sam then winks conspiratorially at Nick.</p><p>They sit lined up in a row, feet dangling over the water, Nick, Sam, Michael, and Gabe in that order. Nick and Michael lift the top of the burger and inspect the layers before taking a bite. Sam? Not so much. He digs right in.</p><p>There's a tense silence when all the brothers try to eat while inconspicuously waiting for the reaction that's bound to come.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Nick throws a questioning look at Gabe behind Sam and gets a silent '<i>I don't know!!!</i>' expression in response, confirming that there's a prank in the works, but the expected fallout hasn't happened.</p><p>Sam's a bit red in the face, and he's sweating, neck, forehead, and upper lip glistening in the hot sun.</p><p>"How's your burger?" Michael asks when the suspense gets too great.</p><p>"'T's good. 'S got a bit of a kick," Sam answers, chipmunking a bite, munching away like nothing's wrong.</p><p>“<i><b>A bit?!!!</b></i>” Gabe exclaims like Sam’s messing with him.</p><p>"Yes. It's kinda spicy. It's good," Sam answers, taking another big bite.</p><p>
  <i>Hot sauce.</i>
</p><p>Nick and Michael's figured out what Gabe's done now. Gabe has his own hot sauce mix that's fucking liquified murder. Nick's face had nearly gone numb when he'd been pranked with it. He'd have kicked Gabe's ass if he wasn't dying from being on fire inside out, losing half his weight in sweat, heart beating so fast a death metal drum would seem like a slow ballad in comparison. The heat had burned his tongue right in half.</p><p>That's his story, and he's sticking to it. Even when people claim he's exaggerating.</p><p>Gabe's gaping at Sam. "<i>Kinda spicy?</i> You're kidding, right?" he asks, eyes big as saucers.</p><p>Sam shakes his head.</p><p>"No way!"</p><p>"You put something on?" Sam asks curiously.</p><p>"Yeah, I did." Gabe takes a small bottle out of a pocket and hands it over to Sam. Sam looks at it, hums, then proceed to lift the cap of his burger and pour on <i>more</i>. (!!!) They're all staring wide-eyed at him now. Michael's forgotten his burger halfway to his mouth, mouth slack and open.</p><p>Sam takes another bite, looking completely content.</p><p>"Nu-uh. No way, Jose. I ain't buying it. It must have gone old and lost its potency or something," Gabe states, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gimme that." He snatches Sam's burger straight from his hands and takes a bite. Sam yanks his burger back irritably while Gabe chews experimentally. "I can taste it, it's… it's… it's... <b>OH MY GOD IT BURNS!</b>" Gabe turns red, sweat pouring out of his face. He leaps to his feet and runs off in search of dairy products to kill the pain while Nick and Michael laugh their asses off and Sam sniggers.</p><p>Nick leans against Sam's shoulder, grinning. "You, Sir, are <i>king</i>," he declares, ignoring the idiotic flutters of his heart at their proximity.</p><p>Sam smiles smugly and finishes the burger. "Gabe forgot his sauce. Think he'll be mad if I take it?"</p><p>"Go ahead. You've <i>earned</i> it," Michael chuckles, squeezing Sam's thigh fondly. Sam twines their fingers together seemingly without a thought, keeping their hands rested in his lap. The boyfriend vibes coming off of the pair are disturbing. Nick can't pin their relationship down. One minute Sam's flirting and making innuendo jokes that Michael laughs about, showing no signs of hurt, rejection, or jealousy like he would if they were a pair. The next minute they're all fucking lovey-dovey with far too much familiarity. Nick's seen Mikey have casual dates and affairs. He acts this <i>cute</i> with girlfriends, not with casual partners. He doesn't do friends with benefits. Maybe acquaintances with benefits like that Chad guy he'd fucked a couple of times but avoided hanging out with after the first date. It's confusing, and Nick doesn't know how jealous he should be. </p><p>When they walk back, Michael's the one to slip his arm around Sam's midriff. Sam seems to grow several feet and puts his arm around Michael's shoulders. So damned proud. But who wouldn't be proud to have Michael at their side?</p><p>They split up when they're back. Sam goes to greet his friends who are semi-permanent fixtures on their gigs, and the brothers lounge in the office. Nick takes his chance while Gabe's in the bathroom, and they're sitting on the worn-out couch by the wall. "Hey, Michael. I can't get a reading on this. Sam and you. Are you dating or what?"</p><p>Michael's lips quirk upward in the corners. "No."</p><p>"Are you sure? Because you look real fucking tight." Too tight. Stop it.</p><p>Michael takes a deep breath and looks at the framed health inspection diplomas on the other side of the wall. "Officially, it's casual."</p><p>“<i>Officially</i>?”</p><p>"Mhm. But I suppose in reality it feels more like an open relationship, even if it's brand new."</p><p>"You can't handle open relationships any more than I can," Nick states with a frown.</p><p>"Oh, I know. But we're still finding our balance. I'm giving him the reins to dictate."</p><p>"This is bullshit."</p><p>Michael turns to him, serious now. "Nick. I know I haven't known him for very long, and it's too early to throw big words around. But I love him."</p><p>Like that isn't a fucking sucker punch to the gut.</p><p>Michael holds up a finger to forestall whatever stupid shit that was about to come out of Nick's mouth once he stopped gaping like a fish. “<i>But</i>. I’m not <i>in</i> love with him. Yet."</p><p>And okay. That makes a difference. <i>For now.</i></p><p>Nick narrows his eyes. "Mikey. He's a minor."</p><p>"Nineteen."</p><p>"Minor."</p><p>"Nineteen."</p><p>“<i>Minor</i>.”</p><p>Michael holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Let's for one moment pretend that you're right and he is underage―"</p><p>"A hundred bucks says he is," Nick interrupts. "And what are you going to do when you fall in love with him? It's inevitable if you keep this level of intimacy with him, and you fucking know it." </p><p>
  <i>Please don’t. He’s mine mine mine.</i>
</p><p>"If we go serious and I find out you're right, then I'll have to deal with it, okay? I'll swallow my pride and keep seeing him because the guy's been too mistreated to be cut off for something he can't control when everything else works, okay? Look. What we talked about? What we suspect? If there's any truth in it, do you really think it'd be a good idea to break up with him because of the age thing? The chemistry's good. I'm a responsible enough person who knows how to respect my partners. What do you think would happen if I dropped him like he's hot?"</p><p>'What we suspect.' None of them had even dared to voice their suspicions. Those are hefty allegations to lay at someone's feet if it isn't true. They've got a vague idea of what they're dealing with purely based on Michael saying that they should take Sam's tequila drenched ramblings at face value. </p><p>Nick's not sure Mikey <i>could</i> keep a sexual relationship with a minor, whatever he says. But he's making a good point. "No good things."</p><p>"Exactly. And I'm not ready to abandon this puppy roadside."</p><p>"Okay, fucking fine. You know that's not what I meant." Nick runs a hand through his hair. "He's flirting with me."</p><p>Michael grins. "Yes, he is. And you're losing all concepts when he does, and it's goddamn glorious."</p><p>"I hate you."</p><p>Michael sniggers. "Love you too."</p>
<hr/><p>Nick stands by the bar, talking to a group of people. He's mingling, chatting up a gorgeous woman who'd been entranced by his performance. Of course, on stage, Sam's his. Nobody can stop him from flirting his ass off with the safety of a stage and guitar between them. It's like sex, but mentally. Now, though, he's aiming for real sex. And he can't fucking stand seeing Sam and Michael whisper privately and trade kisses like it's nobody's business. </p><p>Somebody pats him on the hip, making a smacking sound like he's a fucking pony. He whirls around with an angry scowl. "Hey! I'm not a fucking horse!"</p><p>It's Sam, because why wouldn't it be?</p><p>Sam puts his hands up in surrender, eyes big and remorseful. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't…" he squeezes past Nick while stuttering his apology with his best kicked-puppy look. "I didn't realize… It was an honest mistake."</p><p>"Is that so?" Nick asks, unimpressed. </p><p>Sam's on the other side of him now but still facing him with his hands up. "Yeah. You see…" he drops his hands and his remorseful demeanor, and instead, he narrows his eyes, getting a glint of mischief in them, lips quirking in a lopsided, impish smirk. His voice drops several octaves, turning heavy with teasing innuendo. "You look like a real stud to me."</p><p>He grins smugly, backing away from Nick.</p><p>"Uhuh. Want to take a ride, cowboy?" Somebody should staple his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he couldn't be so easily led. Fuck.</p><p>"Any time, shorty." Sam winks at him. Life isn't fucking fair.</p><p>"You couldn't handle a bucking bronco like me."</p><p>"I bet I could, if you let me try."</p><p>"Come back when you're old enough to vote, kiddo." </p><p>Sam sniggers, throws him a kiss with his middle finger before turning away and disappearing between a cluster of people. Nick's left with a stupid grin on his face and the first hint of a semi in his pants caused by the very vivid imagery of Sam on top of him, fucking Sam so hard all he can do is hold on. God. To be the one with the privilege to drive him to exhaustion then lie and watch him sleep. What wouldn't he do to be that guy? He hates his gut feeling for holding him back.</p><p>A hand touches his chest. “I'll ride you, <i>stud</i>.”</p><p>Right. He's getting laid tonight. Not with the right person, but still. Phairoh is quite stunning. Slanted eyes, bronze skin, long silk-shiny black hair, and a bosom so large you can smother yourself in it. He's several inches taller than her―hell, she barely reaches the height of his chest―but he plays like he's interested when she says she's 33 and works as a doctor's secretary. A real <i>catch.</i> Yeah, he just hopes he can keep a 6'4" dick out of his mind long enough to get it up for her.</p>
<hr/><p>Michael watches Sam by the bar. An overly 'nice' looking man in his late twenties talks to him, handing him a drink. Sam's looking so adorably innocent that Michael's hackles go up. There's another man on a barstool just behind them, discreetly dividing his attention between Sam and the people around them, trying to look like he isn't paying attention at all. Michael can't tell what it is about the scene that makes alarm bells go off in his mind. He knows to trust his gut, but it isn't as finely tuned as Nick's. He searches for Nick, scanning the locale. For once, Nick isn't staring at Sam. He's doing a tonsil-exam on a Thai woman—just Michael's luck. </p><p>"He used to be shy," Brady remarks beside him. The people by the table are a mix between Sam's college friends and the usual 'groupies', women in their late twenties or early thirties who're brave enough to approach the brothers after the gig, some are regular fixtures, like Michelle, Angela, and Betty. Jane's new, though. A cute tomboy brunette sitting opposite of Michael, trying to catch his attention. Nick's comment about dating isn't out of place. Usually, Michael sits with his arms spread on the backrests of the chairs surrounding him, in an open invitation for anyone interested. (All of them do.) In his post-limelight high, he's got no problem picking up girls. But he still prefers them to make the first move. Now, on the other hand, he's 'hiding', placed between Brady and Steve to prevent flirting while Sam's off socializing with everyone and their aunt. The irony of his placement isn't lost on him.</p><p>"I've never read him as shy. He walked up to our table bold as day," Michael argues without looking away from Sam. "But you've known him longer." </p><p>"If he wasn't shy, at least he was reclusive," Brady counters. "You had to drag him out. He never used to be like this."</p><p>"A lot can happen in a month," Michael states. It's true, though. Sam sits by their table for a while, then goes to speak with random people. There's no pattern. Men, women, young, old. He hadn't done that before.</p><p>"Are you talking about the tall guy?" Lisa, Brady's new girlfriend, sitting on Brady's other side, asks.</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"How do you know him?"</p><p>"We were roommates. He used to be my best friend."</p><p>"What happened?"</p><p>"Yeah, man. What happened?" Steve chimes in. "You used to be fucking tight."</p><p>Michael turns his head to look at Brady, interested in how he'll answer this one since he knows the circumstances.</p><p>"Um… I did something… We had a disagreement. Said some hurtful things. It's between him and me, and I don't want to talk about it."</p><p>It's a good enough answer, Michael supposes. Not as good as 'We broke up, and I couldn't hang out with my ex while I was still in love with him.' But still. </p><p>"Bro. Sammy ain't holding no grudges. You know that. Just look at how many times he's forgiven my sorry ass," Steve argues.</p><p>"Yeah, but I had to come to terms with things too. I'm not as good at letting go," Brady counters.</p><p>"So have you?" Michael prompts.</p><p>"Um… mostly. I think."</p><p>Lisa begins to ask something but is interrupted by Sam, suddenly standing by their table. "Hey, Steve. Scoot. You're in my seat."</p><p>"Oy, you left. Sit somewhere else."</p><p>Sam squeezes past the people by the table and demonstratively sits down on Steve's lap.</p><p>"Git your faggotty ass off my dick, asshole," Steve protests, and Sam sniggers and wiggles his butt a bit. Steve scoots to the side, shoving Sam towards Michael with a disgusted expression. Sam settles beside Michael and puts his arm around him with an amused grin.</p><p>"Oh my God! You homophobic wanker. You can't say things like that! It's hurtful," Angela protests from her place at the far end of the table.</p><p>"First off, Matilda, does this fucker look hurt to you?" Steve retorts, pointing his thumb at Sam's grinning face. "No. The only one who's butthurt is you. Second off…" He raises a hand to put two fingers over his mouth, sticking his tongue out through them, crudely mimicking pussy licking at her.</p><p>"You're a bigoted, sexist swine. I don't get why you're even allowed to sit with us," Angela utters disgustedly.</p><p>Steve gives her a fake smile. "Bros before hoes, Patricia."</p><p>Angela makes another repulsed noise and gets up to leave. Michael totally gets why Nick likes Steve. When Steve has his guard down, he's a really nice guy who occasionally puts his foot in his mouth. When he's criticized or threatened, he blows up like a pufferfish, just like Nick does. They're vastly different personality-wise, but these things are the same. 'You don't like me? I'll do my worst.'</p><p>"That was still a pretty mean thing to say to a friend," Lisa offers in a much more polite tone.</p><p>"Friend is the keyword, Lise. Think of how you and Marnie sound when you're talking to each other," Brady defends with a little smile.</p><p>"Ah. Forget I said anything," Lisa retracts with a little laugh.</p><p>"Who's Marnie?" Steve asks.</p><p>"My best friend. If you heard us talk, you'd balk in horror."</p><p>"Doubt it, but okay."</p><p>Sam plucks Michael's beer out of his hand and takes a drink before giving it back. Michael catches the attention of a waitress and holds his bottle up, gesturing for two more before turning his attention to Sam. "Where's your drink? I saw you getting one a minute ago," he queries, voice low and private.</p><p>"Uh, yeah… I put it on an empty table. I, uh. I didn't see the bartender hand it to the guy who gave it to me. And, uh. He used the drink stirrer to stir it but didn't stir his own, and he was drinking the same. I, uh…"</p><p>"Good call. The bartender has drink stirrers that can test for date rape drugs. We ought to alert him."</p><p>"I'm not sure. I might just be paranoid, and it's mean to point a finger and be wrong."</p><p>"The two of them gave me bad vibes, Sammy."</p><p>"Two? No I was just talking to o…" Sam's on his way to point the guy out, but both he and the man who'd been sitting behind him are gone.</p><p>"That settles it."</p><p>Michael takes his phone and sends a group text to all personnel in the bar, giving a description of the men along with his suspicion and after conferring with Sam, the place he left the possibly spiked drink. They can see the waitress pick the drink up from an empty table and deliver it to the bartender instead of whisking it away to the kitchen to pour it out. The bartender tests it. They don't see what he's doing―the bar's in the way―but they see him suddenly scowl and look up, scanning the crowd, catching the attention of a bouncer.  </p><p>Michael gets a text back from the bouncer a while later. The men had left together just before he'd texted them. The drink had been spiked, and the men would be permanently banned. They thank Michael for his vigilance. It's a relief that Sam's careful, but it still indicates he might not have been so lucky in the past. </p><p>"So, Sammy, why are you running around talking with everyone but us? Don't you like us anymore?" Brady asks jokingly, but with uncertainty in his eyes once Michael and Sam have stopped whispering amongst themselves.</p><p>"What? Oh. No, I'm networking. Kinda? Trying to find a job that pays right away. Claire borrowed money from me, and now I can't get a hold of her. I need that money, or I'll be in trouble soon."</p><p>"You're no longer at your old, uh, job?" Brady asks.</p><p>Sam shakes his head after a beat of hesitation.</p><p>A flash of jubilation crosses Brady's face and is swiftly traded for something more neutral. "That's, that's good."</p><p>“Being out of a job is <i>good</i>?” Steve looks skeptical.</p><p>"No. I mean. He, uh, he didn't seem to like it there." Brady looks at Sam questioningly. "Did you?"</p><p>Sam shakes his head.</p><p>"What work did you do?" Lisa asks.</p><p>"Yeah, I didn't know you had a job," Steve chips in.</p><p>"Customer service," Sam deadpans.</p><p>"Oh, God. Tell me about it. I used to work retail before I became a yoga instructor, and…" Lisa starts telling anecdotes about working in retail. They're funny, but Michael only smiles along when others do, lost in thought.</p><p>
  <i>Are you a prostitute, Sammy? Is that why Nick appearing to look down on them got to you? Was the worm joke Nick told me about, 'That's not all I'd put in my mouth for fifty bucks' not a joke?</i>
</p><p>Michael's thinking it, and he knows Nick's thinking it. The reason they're not voicing their thoughts yet is that everything is circumstantial. Their outlook is formed by their tragic experiences, so they could be reading things into it that aren't there. Sam might have meant he'd eat gross things for fifty bucks. Hell, he might have been talking about hot sauce, or living fish, or God knows what. He might very well have had a shitty customer service job. He could have been lying about having been with hundreds of guys. Hell, he could be a compulsive liar but appear so innocent and naive that you can't <i>not</i> believe him. And even if he is a rent boy, he might be doing it for fun. There's nothing to say sexual abuse somewhere in his youth led into it. That's their suspicion formed by their experiences. But until they know for sure, confronting Sam about it would only risk alienating him. Michael's not willing to lose Sam to something as stupid as jumping to conclusions. Besides, even if their suspicions are correct, keeping him close is their best way of protecting him.</p>
<hr/><p>He doesn't want the idea that Sam might be a prostitute to affect him, but it does. They're making out on a bench on the docks, having chosen to walk home early. Well. Earl-<i>ier</i> than Michael would usually leave after a Saturday gig.</p><p>Sam's such a damned fine kisser that it's hard to get very far without stopping to steal a kiss, and when he does, Sam just keeps going. Shifting from slow and sensual to please-fuck-me-now kisses and back again.</p><p>It's addictive.</p><p>So addictive, in fact, that Michael doesn't ever want to stop.</p><p>He wonders if Sam does this to anyone who pays. How many undeserving hands have touched him? How young was he when he got started?</p><p>"Sam, uh…" Michael breaks off their kissing, leaning away enough to look Sam in the eyes properly. "I don't want to ruin the mood or anything, but, have you been tested for STDs recently?" He feels like an asshole for asking. He wouldn't have, if it wasn't for Sam's supposed profession.</p><p>"Yeah, but I'm not getting the results until Monday or Tuesday. My last one, from a month before, was clean, though," Sam answers, not in the least perturbed or offended by the question.</p><p>Michael imagines the people who would be paying for it, and his mind shows him disgusting, dirty old men who can't get it any other way. He knows it's not really true. A lot of guys pay for it that could easily have gotten it in other places. Married men that aren't getting any at home. Businessmen who travel a lot and barely have time to make deep, meaningful connections. Guys that want to get off without the hassle of a relationship or spend a night chatting up a chick just to be turned down. But his mind shows him the worst type of Johns, and he's ill at ease with it.</p><p>Luckily, Sam's such a damned fine kisser that it's not impossible to put it out of his mind…</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. TEQUILA CONFESSIONS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick finally tells Sam his beef with Claire, and Sam runs his tongue under the influence of tequila.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: slurs for short people<br/>Underage drinking<br/>mentions of child molestation<br/>mentions of consensual underage sex</p>
<p>Did you miss the last chapter or did it suck so much nobody commented? There are two chapters in a row both named "archangels", in case you missed it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>"There you are…"</p>
<p>Nick's low, purred voice nearly causes shivers all by itself. Seeing Nick again… it had all come back. Strangely it hadn't diminished any of the butterflies Michael gave him. However, what being with Michael <i>had</i> done was to put Sam at ease in a way he hadn't been before. And Nick had changed his attitude towards him.</p>
<p>These three weeks have been Heaven and Hell. Sam's never experienced so many fluctuating emotions in his life. From unbridled joy to deep despair. It has nothing and everything to do with the Archangels.</p>
<p>He's sitting on Nick's porch, stargazing. "Lemon and salt or orange and sugar-cinnamon mix?" Nick asks.</p>
<p>Sam turns to look at him in confusion. "For what?"</p>
<p>Nick's a dark silhouette backlit by the light coming from inside. "For the tequila, dumbass." He holds up a bottle, shaking it to make a point. "I'm planning to get us all tequila drunk."</p>
<p>"I've never had it with lemon or oranges."</p>
<p>"You haven't―!" Nick rolls his eyes in exasperation. Sam can't see his face but the way his silhouette moves tells the tale well enough. "You drink that foul spirit straight?"</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>"That settles it. You have no taste buds. Wait here."</p>
<p>Nick disappears into his house. Sam looks up at the sky again. It's magnificent out here. He smirks to himself. He's gotten to know the brothers a lot better. Gabe, for instance, had the bad habit of stealing food from others' plates. No―stealing food in general. So earlier this week, Sam had made a delicious looking sandwich and left it uneaten beside him before Gabe was due to arrive. Gabe, predictably, waltzed in, spotted the sandwich, snagged it, and took a bite without asking. Not that Sam minded. But if Gabe <i>had</i> asked, he could have been informed about the hot sauce in advance instead of discovering it for himself. All of Gabe's pranks towards Sam had misfired this far, but that was Sam's first purposeful retaliation. He's probably started a war, but it's worth it to soak in Michael and Nick's gratified delight.</p>
<p>Nick comes back and sits down beside him. Here the light from a window reaches them, revealing Nick's face. He draws Sam's eyes away from the stars. He's so damn beautiful. Everything about him is captivating. He puts down a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, a salt shaker, and two bowls―one containing citrus wedges and the other sugar-cinnamon mix. "Alright, kiddo. While Mikey and Gabe are still arguing about that damn song, I'm gonna teach you how to drink tequila shots properly."</p>
<p>Sam hates when Nick calls him kiddo. But then again, Nick hates when Sam calls him tiny, midget, halfling, short stuff, and so on. Sam doesn't even have to come up with it himself. He just takes whatever words they call Gabe and applies them to Nick.</p>
<p>"They're still arguing about it?"</p>
<p>"Yes. And it's for nothing, because I'm going to veto the decision if they decide to include the song in our roster."</p>
<p>"Couldn't you just tell them that?"</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. "I could, but where's the fun in that?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. The brothers were kinda douche-y towards each other. Even Michael, who might be the kindest person Sam's ever come across. "Good point," Sam concedes while Nick pours the shots.</p>
<p>"So. What you do is, you take the salt or the cinnamon mix first, then drink, and finish by biting the citrus of your choice. Unless you drink aged tequila, this is the only way it's drinkable straight."</p>
<p>Sam sniggers. "Let's agree to disagree, but okay." </p>
<p>Nick mock-scoffs with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "You have no say, since you clearly can put anything in your mouth without repulsion," he jokes.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Why not let me give you a demonstration. Who knows? You might find it pleasant," Sam counters with a sly smirk.</p>
<p>Nick's lip pulls up mirthfully in a corner. "Undoubtedly. Now give me your hand."</p>
<p>Sam holds out a hand to him, perplexed. Nick grabs it in his work-roughened one and raises it to his mouth, then licks a stripe on the meaty part between Sam's thumb and forefinger, subsequently rendering Sam's heartbeat and breathing erratic in the blink of an eye. Either Nick doesn't notice or doesn't care. He takes the salt shaker and pours some salt on the wet spot he left on Sam's hand, then picks up a lemon wedge and makes Sam hold in with the thumb and forefinger on his salted hand. He lets go of Sam's hand to lick his own to repeat the process.</p>
<p>"Hey," Sam protests. "Isn't that my job?"</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. "Too late. Okay. What you do is, you lick the salt off your hand, down the shot, then bite into the lemon. Ready?" he says and holds up his shot glass. Sam mimics him. "Go."</p>
<p>Sam does as he's told along with Nick. Lick, drink, bite. It does taste better. Not that it matters to him. He doesn't mind the tequila taste any more than he minds the general burn of any alcohol. His mind is on the brief feeling of Nick's tongue against his hand.</p>
<p>"Better, right?"</p>
<p>Sam nods with a smile since Nick looks so anticipatory, and is awarded a self-satisfied smirk.</p>
<p>"Let's try the cinnamon mix next, and you can decide which you like best." Nick pours another go in their shot glasses.</p>
<p>"Which do you prefer?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no. I want a verdict from you before you get my opinion."</p>
<p>"Okay." Sam snags Nick's hand to lick him where the cinnamon mix is supposed to go, thrilling inside. Nick gives a protested '<i>Hey</i>', but it's backed up by a smile. "Oh, I'm sorry. Isn't that how you showed me how to do it?" Sam apologizes with fake regret.</p>
<p>Nick grunts and gives him a vaguely amused look. This high level flirting had started earlier that evening. The Anchor had to be closed tonight due to some failure in an inspection. Sam had been disappointed, thinking he'd miss out on seeing them perform. He'd been wrong. Instead, Michael had taken him along to Nick's to let him be there for a jam session. </p>
<p>It might have been one of the best experiences in Sam's life.</p>
<p>He'd gotten to try all their instruments to start with. When he stood behind the drum set, experimentally hitting the different drums and cymbals with the sticks, Nick slid onto the stool behind him, shuffled himself closer, forcing Sam to fall back onto his lap and encasing his hands with his own. Then he proceeded to use Sam's hands to drum on every item while telling him what it was (different toms, snare, bass―though it was hit with a pedal just like the hi-hat cymbal―cymbals like the ride, crash, splash, china, inverted china, cowbells - this drumset had a lot more parts than the one they used for gigs), before he finally started playing, letting loose while still holding Sam's hands. Sam could barely stop laughing. Gabe had entered the room and handed Sam brush sticks. Nick had shown him how to use them on the snare drum, directed him to hit the bass drum in a one, one, two rhythm, and had then used his own arms to play with the wooden sticks. His cheek had been rested on Sam's shoulder blade, his chest warm along Sam's back. He didn't even look when he played―so sure of the placing of his setup. Gabe had joined in on bass and Michael on electric guitar. Sam didn't know what they were playing, but he was part of it, and it was <i>awesome</i>, even if Nick's proximity was driving him to distraction.</p>
<p>A bit later, Gabe chased them away from the drums, and Sam took a seat on the worn armchair in the corner. Michael told them that Sam had read a lot of lyrics without hearing the songs. Nick and Gabe had been as delighted as Michael had been, and the game was on.</p>
<p>They do another tequila shot with cinnamon orange. "Which one did you prefer?" Nick asks.</p>
<p>"Both were good…" The answer gives Nick a displeased wrinkle between his eyes, so Sam considers. "But I preferred the first one, with salt and lemon. I dunno, but I like flavors that sting? If that makes sense."</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. "It does. And I prefer salt and lemon too. Gabe prefers cinnamon mix and oranges."</p>
<p>"Can't say I'm surprised."</p>
<p>"No…"</p>
<p>They both turn to look at the stars even if Sam's still wrapped up in how close Nick is. "I think I'd like to live in a house like this one day," Sam muses.</p>
<p>"Oh yeah?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Far from neighbors, lots of space for friends coming over. But I'd want a house where you can do barbecues in the yard."</p>
<p>"You can have barbecues here." </p>
<p>Sam turns his head towards Nick, expression innocent. "Oh, yeah. No, I know. But I mean, like, <i>without</i> starting a bushfire.”</p>
<p>Nick snorts a perturbed laugh. "You little shit," he mutters, mostly affectionately. "I've got a full-time job and a time-consuming hobby. I figured I did well enough by repairing the house. The yard? Ugh…"</p>
<p>"Priorities, I guess…" Sam says wistfully and looks out over the waist-high grass and brushes in Nick's yard. "Or maybe a good excuse to cover up a lack of talent by the grill," he adds jokingly. "Dad sucked at barbecuing. He'd use too much lighter fluid and put the meat on too early, while the fire was still blazing. The meat would get charred. Apparently, this was the <i>manly</i> way to do it.” Sam snorts and shakes his head at the memory with a little smile. "It was bullshit, and he knew it. He started to order Dean to light the grill instead when we were older. Dean didn't use lighter fluid at all. Instead, he used newspapers and stuff to get the coals burning. It took longer to get the food, but it tasted better."</p>
<p>"I'll have you know that I know perfectly well how to start a grill."</p>
<p>Sam nods with a sturgeon face, sweeps his eyes over the yard pointedly, and says, "I guess we'll never know, now will we?"</p>
<p>"Shut up," Nick scolds and bumps him playfully with his shoulder. Life is good.</p>
<p>Two more shots and a silent stretch that's more loaded than awkward, and Nick speaks again. "Did you ever get a hold of Claire?"</p>
<p>Sam's starting to feel the comfortable, happy buzz of the tequila. "No."</p>
<p>Nick makes a disappointed sound. "Shit. I was really hoping she'd prove me wrong. But I don't think you'll ever see that money again."</p>
<p>"I figured. Don't worry. I solved it." He can feel Nick scrutinize him but doesn't turn his head to meet his gaze. He'd gotten a job at a market research company, doing both phone interviews and stopping people on the street. But it was project-based, so he'd work a few days then have to wait until the next time a project popped up. It had been one of the companies on Uriel's list. He liked the job, though. But he'd never get enough money that way. He couldn't borrow money because without selling himself, he wasn't good for it. Kelvin wouldn't give him the money. '<i> I'm not made of money, boo. My wife and I've got a shared account. What would I tell her?</i>' Kelvin did provide him with food, though. Which is good because Sam's been eating his weight in food daily. Or it feels like it anyway. Seven weeks of hard work out had beefed him up quite a bit. He could have sworn his voice had gotten deeper, too, even if it didn't wobble and break like it had when he was 14. In the end, the panic about getting homeless and settled with debt had driven him to do one job. He'd gone to Zachariah. '<i>12 hours, 3 grand, you supply me with the drug you gave me last time, see to it that I don't get dehydrated, and that you don't leave permanent damage or marks on the face. Then you and your friends can do whatever you want as long as they're free from STDs.</i>' </p>
<p>They had.</p>
<p>Sam's body is full of aching testaments of that. But it's bruises and welts, nothing that wouldn't heal or couldn't be hidden under clothing. To stop Nick from digging further, Sam adds, "Why sound so disappointed? You hate her anyway."</p>
<p>"No, I don't. Not as such. I never did tell you what happened between her and me…"</p>
<p>Sam turns his head to look at Nick, curious now.</p>
<p>"I, uh…" Nick pours them another shot, downs his, then looks at his lap. "When I was 17, I met a guy. Azazel…" He digs his wallet up and takes a worn photo out, handing it over. "He was 24, and I was lost the moment I met his gaze."</p>
<p>Sam holds the photo where the light from the window can reach it. The guy is smiling, nearly feral looking. His gaze might be the most intense Sam's ever seen, made even more so by the fact that his eyes are as close to yellow as human eyes can be, pupils small pinpricks. "I can see why."</p>
<p>"You can? I mean… not many get it. Anyway, you know I'm full of shit when I say I'm straight. And Aze… I was head over heels for him, and it was mutual. We had a stormy, passionate relationship that nobody could get between in the beginning. It would have gone on that way if we didn't include a third party in it."</p>
<p>"Who?" Sam asks, handing the photo back and blinking curiously at him.</p>
<p>Nick's quiet for a bit, meeting his gaze uncertainly before looking at his lap again. "I was a rebel child. I didn't trust the adult world, for a good reason, I might add, which led me to do a lot of bad shit. Burglaries, theft in general, drinking from an early age, doing drugs…" He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Light stuff, to begin with. But when I was with Aze, he introduced me to the dragon that would become part of our lives and romance."</p>
<p>"Dragon. You mean heroin?"</p>
<p>Nick nods without looking up. "Yes. We smoked at first, but it quickly escalated to using needles. The only thing important to me was him and the heroin. Luckily for me, I had Chuck and my siblings already. By nineteen, they did an intervention. Chuck locked me in a room and wouldn't let me out for ten days. They all took turns guarding me. A lot of shit happened around that time… Um… Azazel died while they were keeping us apart. I hate to admit it, but I don't think I would be sober or even alive if he hadn't ODd on dirty heroin during that time."</p>
<p>Sam doesn't know what to say. What do you say to something like that? "I'm sorry you had to go through all that."</p>
<p>Nick shrugs. "Aze was what tied me to the lifestyle. Many fail to keep sober because they go back to the same friends and the same environment. I didn't, and haven't touched heroin since."</p>
<p>"Isn't that the hardest addiction to beat?"</p>
<p>"So it's said, and I believe them. It's been hell at times. I, uh… that's where Claire comes in."</p>
<p>"How?"</p>
<p>"While we were making out, I found her gear in one of her pockets―"</p>
<p>"She's a user?" Sam interrupts, astonished.</p>
<p>"Mhm. I knew it was stupid to keep going with her. Just knowing she had the stuff on her made me itch for it. A lot of my success lies in avoidance. But I was horny, I liked her, she was persistent, and I figured, if she keeps it out of sight, I should be able to manage…"</p>
<p>Sam downs his shot and pours them two new ones. "Then what happened?"</p>
<p>"I explained to her that I was a sober addict and that I didn't want her to light up around me, or even keep her gear visible. She promised, so I took her home and fucked her brains out. Like you do."</p>
<p>Sam snorts with a lopsided smirk at the tone of the last sentence.</p>
<p>"I went to the bathroom," Nick continues. "When I came back, she was in the living room, doing exactly what I'd asked her <i>not</i> to do. To her, it wasn't such a big deal. She thought I should understand that she needed her fix, since I'm an addict too. Unlike Mikey, I get her reasoning. I get the <i>need</i>. You're not in control; the drug is. Hence, I don't hate her. But I freaked out. Mad as hell, I grabbed her by the hair and hauled her outside, threw her clothes and handbag out, and locked the door. Her, uh, the stuff was still left on my living room table. I sat down, staring at it, taking deep breaths in the hope of catching some of the lingering fumes. I know it doesn't work like that, but I was in a real battle with myself right then. I had the stuff <i>right there</i>. Called Mikey. All I said was 'Help me' before I hung up. I kept coming up with reasons why I should allow myself a relapse. It's easy to come up with excuses for why to do something when you really want it… When Michael came, Claire was gone, and I hung onto my self-control by a thin thread. He whisked me away to Chuck's, and I got to stay there for a couple of days. The whole incident had me backsliding a lot in my resistance, even if I never ended up relapsing. Michael hates her because of what it did to me, to all of us. My addiction has been hard on everyone around me. Yet, I don't hate Claire for having fallen into the same trap I did. How could I?"</p>
<p>"So throwing her out was self-defense…"</p>
<p>"Mhm. Claire is… I'm not keen on you hanging with her. She could have been a pretty neat woman, great sass and attitude, beautiful… It's not how it'll play out for her. And you most likely won't see your money again. You can't trust a druggie, no matter how good their intentions."</p>
<p>"Not even a long time sober one?"</p>
<p>Nick smirks, a devilish light in his gaze as he side-eyes Sam. "You'll just have to discover that for yourself."</p>
<p>Sam gets that Nick breezed through his recovery and all the things that had happened surrounding his drug use. He's read books about addicts, heroin withdrawals, and all that. "Have you gone to therapy?"</p>
<p>"Nope. Cold-turkey and only my family at my back. Usually a recipe for failure, but my lack of trust for institutions and officials dabbling in my life would have <i>guaranteed</i> failure. I doubt I'll ever be out of the woods for relapsing."</p>
<p>"Why didn't you just tell me?"</p>
<p>Nick huffs. "It's the least proud moment of my life, Samwise. <i>I</i> can't even respect me for the shit I did during that time. And believe me, I did a lot of bad shit. How the hell could I expect <i>you</i> to see anything but a washed-up junkie when you look at me if I'd told you straight away? I'm not the sharing type, okay? Michael, Gabe, and I, we've gone through a lot of stuff together. Ella, too, to an extent. We catch each other. They know me, and even they don't know everything just like I don't know everything about them. You, you were an outsider still."</p>
<p>"Were?"</p>
<p>“Yes, <i>were</i>, jackass. And if you tell anyone about this, I'll hang you by your own fucking entrails."</p>
<p>Nick looks so serious when he says it that Sam bursts out laughing.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam's occupying the couch all by himself. Nick and Mike sit opposite each other on an armchair each, and Gabe's on a bean bag across from Sam. They're sitting around the living room table, and there's quite a collection of glasses and bottles on the table. They're playing drinking games or giving confessionals or something like that. Sam's not sure, to be honest. All he knows is that they're having a lot of fun and are really drunk. All the brothers are rosy-cheeked, eyes glossy, and eyelids alcohol heavy. </p>
<p>"...last year. Her name is Sarah. I asked her if she wanted me to fuck her, and she got super offended," Sam tells them.</p>
<p>All of them laugh. "Yo. You were supposed to tell us when you popped your lady-cherry, not when you failed to," Gabe jokes. They're sharing their first-time stories. Sam's the last to go. The first round was about girls. Michael's the oldest one to lose his girl-virginity, if you could call it that. He was twenty. Nick lost his at twelve with another twelve-year-old during one of his stints as a homeless.</p>
<p>"But I didn't fail. She stormed out, I ran after her, explained how clueless I was and that I only wanted clarification if she wanted to be friends or if she was after something else," Sam explains, grinning.</p>
<p>“And she <i>bought</i> that?”</p>
<p>"Ha ha. Bet you hit her with the puppy eye cannon."</p>
<p>"I mighta done that, yeah…" Sam admits smugly, causing another bout of laughter.</p>
<p>"So how was it?"</p>
<p>"I shouldn't tell. You shouldn't talk about other―"</p>
<p>"Bullshit! We told all of our embarrassing stories. Fess up, loverboy!"</p>
<p>Sam laughs along with the others and takes a chug directly from the bottle. "Alright, alright. I wasn't very nervous as such. I had had sex before, after all. It wasn't until I was down there I started getting antsy. I…" Sam gives them a recount, trying to make it entertaining. Michael's story wasn't very embarrassing, but Gabe had kept losing his hardon from nerves, and Nick had come within 30 seconds. Fair's fair.</p>
<p>"So how bout your man-cherry?" Gabe probes.</p>
<p>"Um. I was seventeen. I don't,... I don't remember much, to be honest. It was a boy named Roy down in Tulsa…" Is that what he usually says? He can't remember right now. He's drunk, and lies are hard to keep track of. "He went to my school, but we met at a party. I, um… We ended up making out in a room upstairs," <i>...like they do in movies and books. There's always a party and booze… </i> "And it was good. I was really drunk, though."</p>
<p>"Blackout drunk?" Michael asks.</p>
<p>"That's right!" Sam exclaims, latching onto the excuse, snapping his fingers and pointing at Michael.</p>
<p>Michael and Nick share a look Sam can't read and hardly notices.</p>
<p>"Your turn!" Sam deflects, chugs another swallow of the bottle, and puts it on the table.</p>
<p>"Whom of us?" Gabe asks.</p>
<p>"I was 14―" Nick starts at the same time as Michael says, "I was 15, about to turn 16." They share another look and proceed to dive for the bottle at the same time. Michael is a beat before Nick, snagging the bottle with a triumphant '<i>Hah!</i>', getting a glare from Nick and making Sam and Gabe laugh.</p>
<p>"Like I said, I was 15. A few months short of 16," Michael repeats and leans back, cradling his prize. There are other bottles on the table, so it's not like Nick couldn't drink if he wanted, but that's not the rules of this game. You tell your story, you get to drink. Nick leans back sulkily. </p>
<p>"Far out. You guys have never told me this," Gabe coos in delight, eager for new knowledge about his brothers. </p>
<p>Both Michael and Nick give him amused looks before Michael goes on. "It was in our room at Chuck's. And I remember," he pauses to snigger. "Dad opened the door to tell us to quiet down, thinking we were fighting while we were in the middle of it. We were on the floor right in front of the door, and we went still to look up. Dad's complaint cut off, and he," Michael pauses to giggle, Nick sniggering silently too, "he had this expression. This, oh, god, it was so funny. He was all, <i>I did not sign up for this.</i>”</p>
<p>"And, you, you glorious fucker, went 'Do you <i>mind</i>? I'm kinda busy over here.' Fuck, you didn't even stutter, just sounded annoyed," Nick chimes in, chuckling with a grin so wide it crinkles the skin by his eyes.</p>
<p>"I have never seen you turn that crimson," Michael adds, giggling.</p>
<p>"What? Were you looking on or something, Nick?" Gabe asks in bafflement.</p>
<p>Michael laughs out loud, and Nick nods with a mischievous grin. "Mhm. Or something," he agrees.</p>
<p>Gabe's face is totally blank for a beat, blinking a couple of times, looking from Michael to Nick and back. Suddenly his expression shifts to horror. “<i>No!</i>”</p>
<p>"Yup."<br/>
"Yes."</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>man</i>, that’s gross!” Gabe looks absolutely disgusted. "No. Nonono<i>no</i>. I need mind bleach. Eww. I need some air. I don't want to hear this." He snags a bottle from the table and heads for the kitchen patio. Michael and Nick are cracking up. Sam laughs along because it's funny that Gabe left and that the others are laughing. It still takes his alcohol-drenched brain a while to catch up.</p>
<p>"Wait. So you two…?" Sam gestures between them.</p>
<p>"Mhm."<br/>
"Yup."</p>
<p>"But you see each other as brothers?"</p>
<p>“Yes, <i>now</i>. But we'd barely known each other for a year," Michael fills in with amusement.</p>
<p>"Do you remember Chuck's awkward but firm speech in the car the next day?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Michael laughs and turns to Sam. "He took us to a youth clinic to be tested for STDs. And while we were sitting there silent and embarrassed, he went, 'There are birds. And there are also bees… But most importantly, there are STDs'." Michael mimics how Chuck must have sounded. Sam has no reference point, but Nick's wheezing laughter tells him Michael's probably spot on.</p>
<p>"Taking us to the youth clinic was great. They had these free lube and condom packs in bowls in the waiting room," Nick's shoulders jump with mirth while he talks. "Michael, like the stupidly polite fucker he is, took one of each―"</p>
<p>"―you, you bastard, filled up every pocket you had," Michael laughs.</p>
<p>"I thought I was taking a lifetime's supply!" </p>
<p>The brothers are practically crying from laughter now. Sam's cheeks hurt from smiling, belly cramping from laughing along. All of him is warm and fuzzy. "But how did you come to have sex in the first place?"</p>
<p>"Well, I don't remember exactly what started it, but we were fighting. Wrestling―"</p>
<p>"Mikey was doing homework in bed. I was bored out of my mind, so naturally, I did what anyone would have done. I kept punching the book out of his hands so he would pay attention to something more important. <i>Me</i>. Mikey, the annoying fucker, has the patience of an angel, though, and would just pick the book up and continue. He angers with the same pace one of the trains from back in the old days gained speed. On the upside, once he's pissed off, he's unstoppable."</p>
<p>"A lifetime of being bullied taught me that getting pissed would just make it worse."</p>
<p><i>Saying no is when bad things happen. Michael learned that too,</i> Sam realizes.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I had to snatch the book from you and refuse to give it back for you to finally snap. Then we were wrestling for it, and you suddenly stilled."</p>
<p>"I got a boner. It was embarrassing and I didn't know what to do. You were pinned underneath me, and all I could think was that it had turned from a fight into sexual molestation without me even noticing. My mind was like, '<i>shitshitshit!</i>'"</p>
<p>"But I felt it when you stopped moving and all of me went '<i>Hell yeah! Right on!</i>'" Nick shifts to direct himself at Sam. "That's when I kissed him. I'd been into guys before. I'd never acted on it, but I'm not one to stop to fret. Up until then, I'd only heard religious nutjobs say it's wrong, and back then, when any adult said 'Nick no', I would most likely go 'Nick yes!' So I kissed Mikey, and he was still for about half a heartbeat before he responded like I'd poured fire on gasoline."</p>
<p>"It was my first kiss."</p>
<p>"Really? I got to have both your first kiss and your virginity?" Nick asks in surprise.</p>
<p>"Yup. I was bullied and hadn't had any asshole grown-up steal it from me by sexual molestation like so many of our peers had to endure." </p>
<p>Nick looks infinitely smug. "How about that… I had had adults try. Like my uncle trying to shove his dick down my throat when I was five. I'd like to say I bit it clear off. I <i> didn't </i>, but fuck knows he was bleeding all over the place. They took his lies over my truth, I was deemed mentally ill, and that's how I got thrown into the machinery."</p>
<p>"Didn't he love you?" Sam asks in confusion. Had he been sober, he might have heard the record screech to a halt and caught the brothers sharing a quick '<i>Wait what?</i>' look before Nick's smile returns to his face.</p>
<p>"Oh, he claimed to. I was his '<i>favorite</i>'," Nick says sarcastically, making air quotes. "But it ain't fucking love when an adult touches a child that hasn't even hit puberty yet. Even after puberty, it's way past questionable. A kid can look older, body-wise. Like when I lost my virginity. I was twelve but was frequently mistaken for fifteen. So the body might be ready to do the do, but the brain isn't and especially not with an adult since they're <i>always</i> in a position of power, which makes consent even from the most willing kid dubious at best. I've always trusted my gut feeling, and when my uncle… I'm not going into details, but I felt it was wrong. Adult or not, it didn't matter what he said because my body was crawling with do-not-want, and even back then, I trusted my feeling more than anything else. Just like I listened to my gut when it said, 'Hell yes!' When feeling Mikey's boner."</p>
<p>Sam feels his cheeks heat up in distress. He can feel the words seep into cracks in his brain and lodge where they shouldn't. He keeps the smile on his face while he does his best to shove away the thoughts that threaten to come. He manages, but barely. A small ball of anxiety still remains. "I was the opposite. When I was thirteen, I was mistaken for ten," Sam offers.</p>
<p>The brothers share another look, Sam doesn't quite catch. "Late bloomer, huh?" Michael asks, looking satisfied.</p>
<p>"Yeah. So, did Chuck let you stay in the same room after that?"</p>
<p>"He did. Prevention is of no use after the fact. Besides, we went to the same school and hung out often enough. There'd be plenty of opportunities to fuck even if he had kept us apart at night. No, instead, he gave us proper sex education. Not only about STDs, but about the workings of both the male and the female body. He didn't take for granted that we were gay just because he'd caught us together. The result was that that was the only time we did it without a condom and with cream instead of lube and that we are very aware of our girlfriends' needs when they're on their periods. So it was all good, mortification aside."</p>
<p>"You weren't mortified when he caught us, though," Nick points out with a grin.</p>
<p>"I was balls deep inside of you. I was having goddam revelations and a sexual awakening. I would have ripped the throat out of anyone that tried to stop me from continuing."</p>
<p>Nick bursts out laughing and looks at Michael with infinite affection and amusement. "If you only knew how badass you can be when you want to."</p>
<p>"Were you in love?" Sam probes. Both of them shake their heads.</p>
<p>"No. It was a spur of the moment thing, and it only happened a couple of times before our relationship morphed into the brotherhood it is today. I liked Nick and was no longer afraid of him. But it wasn't like that. We hadn't thought of each other like that beforehand."</p>
<p>"Pfft. Speak for yourself. <i>I</i> sure as hell had.”</p>
<p>It's Michael's turn to be surprised. "Really?"</p>
<p>"Yes. Remember that day when I came home early for school and caught you singing in the shower for the first time?"</p>
<p>"Uh-huh?"</p>
<p>"I'd been thinking dirty thoughts about you ever since. Man, that fucking voice of yours. And your fucking charisma. Up until then, you'd been a stuttering, wounded puppy, and then…" Michael blushes prettily and looks at his lap, scraping with his nail at an invisible spot on his jeans, lips curved in a shy smile. Nick turns to Sam, grinning. "I came home early from school, pissy as hell, right? I heard singing from the shower. I couldn't place the voice, so I figured it was a new guy. I thought I'd go in there and give the guy a scare so he'd leave us alone. Be proactive, right? So I step inside the shower room. We had three stalls, kinda like in school. And there's Mikey with his eyes closed, moving to the song and singing from his toes. I was. Blown. The fuck. Away. You know how he transforms when he sings, right?"</p>
<p>Sam nods in agreement, smiling. </p>
<p>"You remember what I was singing?" Michael asks, biting his lip over a smile.</p>
<p>"Sure do. Grease. You were singing your fucking show tunes like always when you need to calm your nerves. As I remember, I was pissed off because you'd gotten roughed up and been sent home. I'd fucked your bullies up when I heard of it and got sent home after that."</p>
<p>"Which song?"</p>
<p>Nick starts to sing. "<i> I've got chiiiills, they're multiplying. And I'm looosing control…</i>"</p>
<p>The singing draws Gabe back and nudges the current conversation into a sing-along session instead.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam can't tell how they ended up this way, but he's in friggin Heaven. He'd be content like this―nothing more―for the rest of his life. Or so it feels at the moment. The room is spinning slightly, his vision is blurred, his cheeks and belly hurt from laughing, and Nick's warm at his back. Nick's breath tickles his neck, and his arm lies comfortably heavy across Sam's chest. Sam needs to keep his legs bent to fit on the couch between Nick's legs. He's trapped one of Nick's legs against the backrest, and the other foot is planted on the floor. Michael's still on the armchair, not showing any jealousy, and Gabe's dibsed the beanbag for life, it'd seem.</p>
<p>They're back to playing games. Granted, they frequently forget to drink at their turn. Not that it matters when they're this plastered. Sam's held his own really well at these games since now it's about trivia. The brothers are great at it too. They're playing these games quite often, as Sam understands it.</p>
<p>"Oh, oh! I've got one! Major event, year of birth," Gabe suggests, waving his bottle of neon green tequila drink in the air.</p>
<p>"Go f'r it," Michael urges with a slight slur. This question is so easy that Sam doesn't even have to think about the answer. </p>
<p>"Mike Tyson is arrested for rape. Oh, oh, and Jeffrey Dahmer is arrested. The Balkan war starts. There's an earthquake in Italy that kills 2000 people. T―"</p>
<p>Nick's laughter interrupts Gabe. “You’re <i>still</i> supposed to name <i>one</i> thing, jackass,” he scolds. Gabe's been spouting alternative answers all the time. Sam enjoys how Nick rumbles and shakes under him when he laughs.  </p>
<p>"1991," Sam mumbles redundantly. He knows when they're born, but he still listens to the facts and puts a year on them. It matches up.</p>
<p>"The Chernobyl catastrophe," Michael states simply.</p>
<p>"Too easy," Gabe protests.</p>
<p>"Challenger d'sintegrates 73 seconds after launchin', killing all seven astr'nauts on board," Michael adds.</p>
<p>"1986's easy to remember," Sam muses and closes his eyes. Nick's thumb is stroking back and forth on his chest.</p>
<p>Nick's voice is felt as vibrations through his back, puffs on his neck, as well as heard. "The Iran - Iraq war ends."</p>
<p>"No. 'Nother one," Sam demands. He doesn’t <i>know</i> the answer to that. He'd have to trust Nick that it's 1988.</p>
<p>"Hmm, okay. Terrorist bomb explodes on Pan Am jet over Lockerbie in Scotland killing all 259 onboard and 11 on the ground."</p>
<p>"Correct," Sam mumbles. He knows that happened in '88.</p>
<p>"Now you, Sammy."</p>
<p>"Easy peasy. Columbine High School shooting," Sam mumbles drowsily. He could fall asleep like this. He might.</p>
<p>There's a quiet.</p>
<p>"Uh… Are you sure, Samoose?" Gabe asks. </p>
<p>"Mhm." Nick nuzzles his hair. Life is good.</p>
<p>"You sure it shouldn't be Princess Di goes belly up in a car crash, El Nino forms, Mother Teresa goes to Heaven, Dolly is cloned, Mike Tyson bites Holyfield's ear, Tiger Woods wins the Masters as the youngest ever, the Bird flu becomes a thing, Madeleine Albright becomes secretary of state?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. "Nice try. That was two years before I was born," he tells them smugly. He may be slow sometimes, but when it comes to memorizing facts, he's got it all down. They can't shake him in this.</p>
<p>"Fuck," Michael curses. Sam can hear him get up and leave, then the beanbag rustles, telling him that Gabe got up to follow. </p>
<p>He's not sure what upset Michael. Maybe he'd guessed the wrong year? Not that it matters. Nick's lips are pressed against his hair. "Well done, baby bird. You're quite amazing at stating facts when you've had tequila," he praises.</p>
<p>"Don't call me that," Sam protests. "I'm not a little bird." He opens his eyes and twists his head to scowl at Nick, but soft lips trail along his cheek and graze his lips, frying every thought in his brain, making the sudden, nauseating panic of being called baby bird evaporate. Nick's hand not stroking his chest, comes up to cup his cheek gently, keeping him in place. At first, Nick just moves his parted lips slowly back and forth over Sam's in an ever so soft caress, sharing breaths until Sam's dizzy with it, every hair standing on end and his belly swooping as if he's on a roller coaster. Then Nick's warm tongue flicks out to slowly lick along the edge of Sam's lower lip, feeling its outline. Sam makes a wounded noise between a gasp and a whine.</p>
<p>Michael's suddenly there, leaning over them, looking angry. He flicks Nick's ear with a finger, breaking the spell. "No! You don't get to do that. Not now. You were right. Here are your hundred bucks. Now <i>stop it</i>," he scolds and presses five twenties in the hand Nick had cupped Sam's cheek with.</p>
<p>Sam starts to laugh. It must be the first time he's seen Michael jealous. He's not even disappointed about getting interrupted. Nick keeps holding him, and everything is good and nice and warm and safe. He feels sleep start to drag him under and doesn't fight it. He's not sure if he's dreaming or if he's awake, but the last thing he remembers is Nick's lips forming whispered words against his hair. "You're wrong, Sammy. You’re <i>my</i> little bird…”</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please, please leave a comment. When I don't get a single comment on a chapter my confidence evaporates.<br/>Gif of how pathetic I am when nobody comments:</p>
<p>
  
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mike and Nick discuss yesterday's revelation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for commenting. Sorry for being a needy bitch. I just need confirmation that I'm not alone on this journey. ^^'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>Michael opens the door to Nick's bedroom and peeks inside. Sam's still out like a light, spread out like a giant octopus. He's kicked the blankets off, and he's still clothed because after the three-man-effort it had taken to get him to bed, Michael couldn't bring himself to unclothe him. He's seventeen. Every stolen kiss and touch have been wrong wrong wrong. He'd told Nick he wouldn't discontinue anything with Sam if Nick was right, but he feels like a lowlife rapist. Granted, he could claim he didn't <i>know</i> Sam was a minor. Legally that would get him off the hook. But that's just semantics because he knows <i>now</i>, and it's eating him up. </p>
<p>Somebody―probably Nick―has already put a hangover first aid kit on the nightstand. It could be Gabe too. The prank war is put on hold for at least a day since they've just started realizing the gravity of the Sam situation. That said, Gabe wouldn't put off any pranks for too long, considering how Sam's managed to turn every single one back onto Gabe this far. Even the glitter cannon with the tripwire Gabe had set up in Nick's entrance. (A ballsy move, considering Nick's hate for glitter. But since it was aimed outside the house, Gabe thought he could get a pass.) Gabe hadn't counted on Sam's height, and Sam had spotted the concealed contraption, adjusted it while frowning at it, trying to figure out what it was. Gabe hadn't seen Sam touch it, so when he came running to get a good view of Sam getting glitterified, urging Sam to hurry up inside, Sam had triggered the tripwire, and Gabe had been hit by his own glitter, standing six feet away. Nick had forced him to strip and wash right there in the yard before he was allowed to enter. It was glorious.  </p>
<p>Michael closes the door and goes in search of his brothers. He finds Gabe still sleeping in one of the tiny guest rooms. He's using the beanbag as some form of oversized cuddle-buddy. Michael closes the door to go find Nick. He'd taken the couch, and he isn't there. Nor is he in the kitchen. Why the hell he'd be up at 8 AM on a Sunday after a night of heavy drinking is pure mystery.</p>
<p>He finds Nick in the most unlikely place ever―the backyard. Even more shocking, he's struggling to clear it, taking handfuls of waist-high grass in one hand and cutting it off close to the ground with the help of a pair of secateurs, continuously swearing under his breath.</p>
<p>"You know, that might be easier with a sharp knife?" Michael suggests bemusedly.</p>
<p>"Go burn in hell," Nick kindly offers in response.</p>
<p>Michael chuckles and makes his way into the uneven circle Nick's cleared. There are piles with grass inside of it, and he spots the massacred remains of a snake. "I'm pretty sure that's a California Red-sided Gartersnake. They're not dangerous to humans."</p>
<p>Nick stops to do an eye roll at the grass he's facing before he answers. "Excuuuse me for not running to fetch a herpetology handbook before panicking when I find a snake wriggling under my fingers."</p>
<p>Michael sniggers. "What are you doing, anyway?"</p>
<p>Nick stills and sits back on his haunches, suddenly looking completely innocent. "I thought it would be nice to barbecue in the yard sometime. You know, put a steak on the grill and kick back a couple of cold ones."</p>
<p>Michael snorts in disbelieving amusement. "I call bullshit. The very idea of doing yard work sucks the will to live out of you. What's the excuse you normally use? You don't want to disturb the local wildlife?" Nick gives him a flat stare from under heavy eyelids. Michael continues with a sly smirk and teasing voice. "But I do, however, happen to know that Sam enjoys barbecues immensely. Coincidence, wouldn't you say?"</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face in annoyed displeasure. “Oh, <i>alright.</i> That little fucker accused me of keeping my yard this way because I don't know how to light a grill properly or cook steaks without scorching them. I can do that perfectly fine."</p>
<p>Michael cackles. “<i>You</i>? You haven't lit a grill in your life!"</p>
<p>"Doesn't mean I don't know how to do it."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah? How then?" Michael bites his lip not to giggle.</p>
<p>"You use newspaper and stuff like that to get the coals burning, then when there are no flames, you put on the meat."</p>
<p>"Somebody's been googling," Michael teases and gets another glare.</p>
<p>Nick resumes his work, not looking at Michael. He mumbles something.</p>
<p>"Come again? I didn't hear you," Michael prompts.</p>
<p>“I <i>said</i>, Sam told me how.”</p>
<p>Nick grumbles silent profanities as Michael once again cackles.</p>
<p>"Holy shit. You're so in love with him it's not even funny," Michael giggles.</p>
<p>"It's obviously fucking <i>hilarious</i> judging by how you laugh at it," Nick snipes and hacks at a small bush.</p>
<p>"Right. Sorry, not sorry. Speaking of Sam. Care to explain your reasoning for making a move on him as soon as we got confirmed that he's indeed a minor?" Michael asks, sternly this time.</p>
<p>"Not really, no."</p>
<p>"Let me rephrase that. Tell me <i>what the hell you were thinking</i>!"</p>
<p>"Fucking fine." Nick gets onto his feet and turns to Michael with an annoyed twist to his lips. "I figured since I knew what I was diving into, it didn't matter that―" Nick waves a hand dismissively. "You know what? It doesn't matter what I was thinking. I was drunk as a skunk. It made perfect sense to me <i>then</i>. Just like it made sense to me to lock the door to the bedroom so he wouldn't escape and I could keep him safe. Then I slept for a bit and sobered up enough to realize that, no, kidnapping is, in fact, not the best way to go about it. I don't want to stand here and rationalize irrational thoughts I had while all my common sense was vaporized by tequila, okay?"</p>
<p>"You locked his―?" Michael drags a hand over his face. "Okay. Okay. You're right. Let's not argue about it. Sam would probably have been just as willing to do… <i>anything</i> with you even fully sober."</p>
<p>Nick grunts and puts his hands in the holster pockets of his carpenter pants. "Yeah, well. Not even in my dreams can I get it to equal consent. And I've had several wet dreams turn into nightmares about him."</p>
<p>"Really?"</p>
<p>"Ugh. Yeah. In the beginning, we're making out, getting hot and heavy. He's his usual self. I tell him what I want to do with him, and he's like, 'anything you want', I ask him what he wants, but he keeps repeating 'anything you want', and when I look him in the eyes, they're all white, no iris or pupil or even reflection. They're white like paper. And when I look down where I'm touching him, I can see black spreading through the veins, visible under the skin, like I'm poisoning him. And fucking bruises everywhere my hands have been, no matter how lightly I've touched him. And through it all, he keeps smiling, repeating 'anything you want' with a voice that gets more and more hollow until I can see his face starts to come loose like a mask. I never get to see what's beyond before I wake up, though. Total fucking boner killer, I'll tell you that."</p>
<p>"Holy shit. And you still dare to touch him after that?" Michael feels nauseated just by listening to the description.</p>
<p>Nick chuckles humorlessly and makes a dismissive gesture. "Pfft. It's nothing compared to the hallucinations I had during withdrawals or a couple of bum trips I've had. 'Sides, I figure that touching him isn't the problem, but my subconscious tries to tell me to keep it in my pants until I've seen what's behind the mask." He gives Michael a tired smile and a shrug.</p>
<p>Michael doesn't like to be reminded about Nick going through heroin withdrawals. He'd been convinced Nick was actually dying. Technically, what they'd done, locking a 19-year-old up in a room, was very much illegal no matter how good their intentions were. Not that any of them had given a shit about the law. Nick hadn't either, once news reached him about Azazel's death. Michael probably cried as hard about Aze's passing as Nick did, even if Nick didn't get to see that. It was just so damned tragic. <i>Everyone</i> could see how much those two loved each other. If it wasn't for the drugs, they might have had a happily forever after, and that's what broke Michael's heart about it. Michael had been discussing with dad how they could convince Azazel to go to rehab, so they could let Nick stay with him, simply because of how God damned happy Nick was with him. That light in Nick's eyes has started to return while Sam's been hanging with them. He'd been playful as a pussy cat with Sam the last couple of times, flirting and goofing around.</p>
<p>But Sam's a minor.</p>
<p>Nick nudges him, jarring him out of his thoughts. "Hey," he says softly. "How are you holding up?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Nobody will blame you for having fucked him, you know? I know you. There's been no coercion involved from your side. Don't sweat it."</p>
<p>Michael lets out a frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. "We haven't―"</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*――***――*</p>
</div><i>“What the hell is <b>wrong</b> with me? I don't get it. Why does this keep happening?" Sam sat on the bedside, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees, hands buried in his hair, supporting his head. His back was to Michael.</i><p>
  <i>" Hey, hey… It's alright, Sammy. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," Michael reassured softly and reached out to stroke Sam's naked back comfortingly.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>" Gnnn," Sam whined in frustration. “But I <b>do</b> want to! Don't you get it? I've never wanted it more in my whole fucking life! I don't understand it. I feel so damned safe with you, I―" Sam twisted to look at Michael. He looked absolutely heartbroken, and it physically hurt Michael to see him so sad. "I've had sex with other people since we got started," he confessed.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>" The married man?" Michael hadn't known. He'd suspected, but he hadn't been sure. The jealousy he felt didn't come as a surprise. He knew they were toeing perilously close to the edge for what he could handle emotionally before they had to stop fooling around or promise each other monogamy. This here, that kept happening, was what kept them on the right side of that line.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>" Amongst others. Not many, but still. It's just with you this happens. With others, I can just go into a state of… damnit, I don't know! Why, Michael? Why can't I manage to make love to you without this bullshit when I can fuck others, no problem? I mean, I trust you completely and feel so fucking safe! I―" Sam's face crumbled, the first sob tearing out of him, tearing Michael's heart asunder as well.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Michael scooted to sit beside him, collecting him in his arms. He rocked Sam softly, cooing comforting words into his hair.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>" Please, Michael, don't tell anyone about this. It's so damned embarrassing." </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>" I won't, Samshine. I promise." </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>" Will you sing to me?" </i>
</p>
<p><i>Michael sang the first thing that came to mind, jumping straight into the chorus. "...Like the coldest winter chill, Heaven beside you, hell within. And you think you have it still, Heaven inside you…" In hindsight 'Heaven Beside You' by </i>Alice In Chains<i> might not have been the most uplifting song, but Sam seemed to take comfort from it just like Nick and Gabe did when they were depressed...</i></p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*――***――*</p>
</div>Oh, great. Now he's breaking an outright promise of confidence. It can't be helped. "We haven't actually had sex."<p>"Come again?" Nick raises his eyebrows in disbelief.</p>
<p>Michael fidgets uncomfortably. "I mean, we have. Technically. But we've never gotten further than third base."</p>
<p>"You're shitting me? You've been seeing each other for nearly a month, and you're telling me you haven't fucked?"</p>
<p>"I promised him not to tell anybody. That, that thing that happened the first night?"</p>
<p>"When he had a flashback?" Nick asks, and Michael nods, looking at his shoes. "That put you off from trying again?" </p>
<p>Michael shakes his head, still not daring to look up. He's so fucking ashamed of himself, knowing all the things Sam let slip yesterday. "No. It’s not like we’ve been <i>trying</i> trying. We've been carried away. Sam too, not just I. But anytime we get close to have puh-puh-p-penetrative s-s-sex…"</p>
<p>Nick steps closer, leaning his forehead against Mike's, hooking a hand around his neck and gripping his upper arm. "Relax. Look at me, Mikey. Relax, okay? You've done nothing wrong, okay? You've been nothing but good to him. You've put no fucking pressure on him whatsoever, okay? Whoever fucked him over, it wasn't you. I know you, and I've seen you two. Anytime he's been acting extra bold or cocky, he flits right back to your side like a little bird seeking shelter under your wing. I've been jealous as fuck about it, but I've done that too. Gabe and Ella too. Just like you've sought confidence and protection in us. Whatever you’re thinking now, <i>don’t</i>. Talk. Sing it if you have to, but talk."</p>
<p>Michael squeezes his eyes shut with a mirthless little laugh. Nick knows him so well. When his thoughts get dark enough to make his stutter return, singing what he wants to say works. He hates to resort to that, though, so he takes a few deep breaths and tries again. "We can't… we can't have sex without him triggering… making out, even naked, works just fine. Mutual masturbation, hardcore frot… shit, but hardcore naked frot until we come is our thing. But, if he… if I… doesn't matter whom of us would be topping. Or if I try to give <i>him</i> a blow job… he triggers. He has flashbacks. He's blown me a couple of times in the morning when I wake up with a boner, and I'm too fuzzy-headed to stop him from crawling down to do his thing. That's fine too. I don't know. I'd say he's the initiator of 80% of our sexual activity. I've tried not to be pushy because of the flashback thing, but if I break it off while we're at it and he can see I'm into it, he looks like a kicked puppy, and I―"</p>
<p>"I get it. You're human, Mikey. You're fucking <i>allowed</i> to be turned the fuck on by your boyfriend. Especially with how fucking sexy he's gotten lately. That damned boy has beefed up substantially. He doesn't look like a boy. He looks like a young man."</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> saw it.”</p>
<p>"I saw trouble and held onto an excuse to stay out of it."</p>
<p>"The worst part is, he tells me it's just me. It only happens with me."</p>
<p>"Does he tell you why?"</p>
<p>"No. He says he doesn't know. He says he doesn't get it because he's never felt so safe, and he trusts me completely, but…"</p>
<p>"Then he's told you."</p>
<p>Michael looks up, not understanding.</p>
<p>"It's simple, isn't it? If it's the truth, that he's never felt as safe as he does with you, then he's letting his guard down," Nick explains as if it's the most natural thing in the world.</p>
<p>It suddenly makes a lot more sense.</p>
<p>Nick lets go of him. "Look. We've suspected him of being a prostitute for a while now, right? And yesterday he told me he'd solved his money problem. With how little he's worked and how much time he's spent with you, there's no way he could have gotten the money by legal means. Claire borrowed two grand from him, for fuck sake. So that all but confirms it."</p>
<p>"He's confessed to sleeping with others while we were together," Michael adds.</p>
<p>Nick makes a face. "Fair enough. So he's a prostitute. Then we add in all the things he let slip yesterday. He's seventeen. He remembers perfectly well his first time with a woman, but not with a guy. He claimed to have been blackout drunk, which is a fucking lie since we've never seen him get that drunk and he's repeatedly told us he's never <i>been</i> that drunk. He's also told us he's got memory gaps. It all points towards sexual molestation when he was very young, or younger at least. Those flashbacks might be repressed memories."</p>
<p>"So what do we do now?"</p>
<p>Nick looks down, frowning in thought and scratching his neck. "I don't know. We'll figure something out. In the meantime, I'm gonna make sure he gets his fucking barbecue if it so kills me."</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those of you who're wondering when Dean will show up; we're getting there. A few more chapters to go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's not dumb. He knows something's changed. He panics.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
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  </p>
</div><tt>" You'll never make it in time, even if I carry you, but I've got an idea," the dog told Little bird.</tt><p>
  <tt>" What? What will you do?" Little Bird asked.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Wait. You'll see. I'll protect you from the storm." The dog dug the ground with his front paws, digging a hollow. Then he scratched and gnawed at his fur, so big tufts of loose hair fell off. He collected the tufts and put it all in the hollow. "Here! Lay down on this," he urged.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Little Bird obeyed dubiously, and to his surprise, the hollow was soft and cozy. It was so comfortable. The dog lay down on top of him, creating a warm roof with his body. "I will guard and protect you. Dogs do that. We guard, and we protect," the dog said proudly. "Are you comfortable?" </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Yes. I don't think I've ever been this comfortable." </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>" Fantastic!" the dog exclaimed enthusiastically. "Rest now. I'll stay put. Dogs are really good at staying put." </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>And the dog did. He stayed despite fat raindrops beating down on him, despite thunder and lightning making him shiver in fear, and despite the howling wind pelting him with debris. Little Bird slept. He felt so safe. He didn't notice the white wolf when it came joining the dog, lying down and putting its rugged head over the shepherd's back, nor did notice the monkey that came to hug them both during the worst hour. Little Bird slept.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>What woke him was the pain. Not from the dog pulling his downy feathers, but from a new kind of pain he'd never felt before. He was still warm and safe and comfortable, except it felt like sharp thorns being pushed through his skin, but from the inside. Little Bird couldn't understand how the shepherd did it…</tt>
</p><hr/>
<p>Sam closes his laptop and puts it on the new living room table. "Are you going to break up with me?"</p>
<p>"What?" The question takes Michael off guard. </p>
<p>Sam stares at the dark screen of the TV despite it having been turned off for hours. He shifts on the couch and runs his fingers through his soft, floppy hair. "Sorry. Stupid question. We're not together." He flicks a gaze at Michael, sitting by the piano with his fingers frozen over the keys, a confused expression and an oncoming feeling of dread. Sam looks back at the TV. “But you <i>are</i> about to end this. I can feel it, you know?"</p>
<p>"Wh-wh-what are you tuh-talking about, Sammy?" Sam's been withdrawn today. Michael left him space to brood, but he hadn't anticipated anything like this. He can feel what's coming with a ball of ice forming in his belly. </p>
<p>"Is it because of Nick? I almost kissed him that one time. And we've been flirting. I didn't think you minded. I can stop."</p>
<p>"You can flirt with Nick all you want. I'm not about to end it with you."</p>
<p>"You know, I've been trying it out, telling people at work I have a boyfriend, just to know how it feels."</p>
<p>"A-a-at work?" For a beat, Michael tries to envision it. But did Sam tell customers or other prostitutes?</p>
<p>"Yeah. I mean, the team at Gallup isn't that big, but still. It felt kinda good saying it. So I've been thinking about it. About asking you to go steady. Do people still call it that? Not that it matters. I'm not stupid, Michael. I know you're about to end it."</p>
<p>Deep-seated shame crawls all over Michael's body. Of course, he was talking about his market research job. Michael's skin is cold and clammy. He tries to find the words to meet these wild accusations, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his desert-dry mouth. Seconds tick by with Sam staring at him, waiting for him to speak, all while Michael's heart rate goes erratic and fast, limbs starting to go numb. He can't form a coherent thought. He hadn't seen this coming. Doesn’t know <i>why</i> Sam’s accusing him of this. Or does he…?</p>
<p>Sam looks away and rises out of the couch, shoulders drooping and face shuttering down in something that looks like finality. "I should go. Spare you the trouble," he says and picks up his laptop. "You don't want me anyway."</p>
<p>It's happening too fast. Some kind of 'It's not me, it's you,' rather than the opposite of what he's used to hearing. But out of the blue and please don't go what did I do? Stay Sammy Samshine stay shit don't leave don't leavedontleaveIcantdealwhyisthishappeningwhatdidIdoamItooclingyneedysmotheringdontleavedontleavedon― </p>
<p>Sam's already packed with his hand on the door handle when Michael finds muscle control to wrestle himself off the stool and somehow get to the door in time to stop Sam from leaving by clinging to him. Hugging him as if he's drowning, and he is, he <i>is</i> drowning, old wounds ripping, bleeding familiar doubts and fears all over the place, he's too clingy too needy pathetic stuttering idiot and why would anyone want to be with him they don't they don't! make the world stop spinning don’t <i>leave!</i></p>
<p>But then Sam's dropped the bag and is kissing him, despite not a single word having managed to tear from his mouth to beg Sam to stay. Michael kisses back for all he's worth, trying to get impossibly close, fingers digging in, legs tangling, not close enough.</p>
<p>Sam must feel the desperation, firing up and flowing with it. Michael can't tell how long it takes them, or how short, before they're half-naked in bed, wrestling with shedding the last layers, fumbling for lube and condoms, already sweaty. Greedy mouths wanting for more more <i>more</i>. Feverish skin to skin has never felt so good.</p>
<p>Michael's stupid, stupid brain catches up with him when he's guiding himself to push in, kissbitten mouths barely separating long enough for Sam to smile radiantly at him. Expectantly. Triumphantly. Overjoyed. <i>Not triggering.</i></p>
<p>And that's what does it. Sam, with his nightmares and flashbacks, with his pained puppy eyes. Seventeen years old. He's already used and used so often he's falling apart, splitting at the seams and Michael's about to cement himself as yet another user. </p>
<p>Sam wants this, he reminds himself. </p>
<p>But Sam doesn't know anything else. The other day Nick presented a theory that made them all cringe, and Nick said he could prove it by adding a specific song to the roster and watch Sam react. If the theory is correct, there's no telling how long, how conditioned Sam's been to see this as his only value. He's just a kid.</p>
<p>Seventeen and nineteen are only two years difference, he tells himself. It's not that big of a deal. The damages are done and they desire each other. They <i>do</i>. Sam's want is unmistaken, a burning inferno of heat. It's not a ruse.</p>
<p>He desires a kid and is acting on it.</p>
<p>When the hell did Nick become the one with the moral high ground? Nick’s head over heels and <i>still</i> keeps his hands to himself, refusing to become one of <i>them</i>.</p>
<p><i>I’m one of them. Oh God, I’m one of </i>them<i>!</i></p>
<p>Michael's rapidly sucked into a spiral of self-blame and doubts that's been hounding him since he learned Sam's real age. He'd said he would deal with it, but he isn't. Just like Nick predicted, he's not coping well with it. Nick's had to pep-talk him several times since, telling him he's good for the boy, that there's nothing wrong with them having a relationship. It's undermined by the fact that <i>Nick</i> kept himself from starting one. Guilt has been piling on with every kiss he's shared with Sam. Sam's kisses had started coming with a bitter aftertaste of shame and guilt. He imagines getting to call Sam his boyfriend and sees himself introducing him at the office, and his mind shrinks back from the thought. Shameful. Not of Sam, but of himself. Having a 17-year-old for a boyfriend.</p>
<p>He thinks his hesitation lasts for just a heartbeat, but Sam's smile falters, and something in his eyes dies, expression becoming closed off and bitter. He pushes Michael off, shaking his head, rolls off the bed to collect his clothes, and quickly gets dressed. "This is what I'm talking about, Michael. You don't think I notice? I may not know much, but if there's one thing I know, it's when I'm wanted. You're about to break it off. No need to pretend anymore. I'm out."</p>
<p>One moment he's here, warm, happy, beautiful, and sizzling; the next, the door slams shut with an angry bang.</p>
<p>How do you tell someone that you don't feel comfortable having sex with them because they've been taken advantage of by too many people from a too-young age when the person measures his worth by being desired? When the person thinks that sex is the ultimate form of love? When the person is afraid to be judged for the manner people have used him? There is no way of having an 'adult' conversation about it and keep the trust gained.</p>
<p>Sam's gone and Michael can't breathe. He hadn't seen it coming. He'd thought he'd kept up his facade and hadn't seen it coming. It's too late. Too late and it's all his fault. This time there's no stopping the panic attack.</p>
<p>Once he's human again, he tries to call Sam, but Sam doesn't pick up. So he calls again. And again. And again, sending a few texts too while he's at it. Then he berates himself. Too needy. Too clingy. Pathetic. All while the little child in his heart sobs '<i>Please, come back</i>' with every beat and every breath…</p><hr/>
<p>"You're late. We've already loaded up the van. Where are you?" The silence that meets him instead of Michael's usual, dry 'Hello to you too' instantly sets Nick on edge. "Mikey? Are you alright?"</p>
<p>Gabe, fully attuned to Nick's emotions, notices the switch between annoyed and worried right away. "What's wrong? What's happened?" he asks and pulls on Nick's arm to get him to lean down so Gabe can press himself to the phone and listen in.</p>
<p>"I fucked up. Sam left me. I, I, I don't feel so well. Yuh-you're gonna have to puh-play without me tonight," Mikey answers, sounding broken up. The small stuttering just underlines it.</p>
<p>"You mean he broke up with you? When?"</p>
<p>"Sunday."</p>
<p>"<i>Sunday?</i> And you haven't told us? Why did he break up with you?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. It's my fault. I don't know what I did but it's my fault."</p>
<p>
  <i>Not very fucking likely.</i>
</p>
<p>"Have you tried calling him?"</p>
<p>"Like a stupid fuckboy that can't take a no."</p>
<p>Some people don't realize how easy it is to fall into old behaviors even if you've come as far as Michael in your self-development. Michael has abandonment issues, and he has a tendency to take all the blame on himself. For the most part, he's learned to let people take responsibility for their own actions, but when he's gone down the rabbit hole of heartbreak, all bets are off. Nick's fuming, enraged at Sam for making Mikey hurt and backslide. "Pfft. He didn't tell you why he ditched you?"</p>
<p>"He said I was going to buh-break it off with him so he's saving me the trouble."</p>
<p>"What the hell gave him that idea?"</p>
<p>“I don’t <i>knooow</i>.” Michael's response is more of a pained whine.</p>
<p>"We're stopping by before we go to set up at the Anchor, and you'll tell us exactly what happened. Then I'm coming to you directly after the gig, okay?"</p>
<p>"Okay…"</p><hr/>
<p>"I never thought I'd say this, but chill, bro…" Steve chuckles. "Man. I'm fucking raw. I didn't even think you could have too much sex. Wanna go shoot some pool down at the arcade?"</p>
<p>No. Sam doesn't want that at all. He wants to stay here and keep fucking like rabbits because they <i>can</i>. Because when Steve pushes in, he follows through, and nothing dies in his eyes. Because Sam doesn't have to wonder why he isn't wanted, what he did wrong. Because even as we speak, there's no 'I don't want to do this' in Steve's body language no matter what his mouth is saying. He misses Michael like a gaping wound, worse by tenfold than he missed Brady. But Mike doesn't want him. He'd promised to say why but hasn't, and it's eating at Sam.</p>
<p>Worse, are that the flashbacks―if that's what they are―have started coming even outside of Mike's presence, and anytime they do, his inside gets all messed up. He gets anxious and stressed and can't be alone even if he doesn't feel up to socializing. The good memories are the worst. He's always thought his mind blotted out the bad parts. Sort of like a classified document released to the public with words struck with black. But if it's really flashbacks he's having, then he might be missing a significant part of his childhood. That freaks him the fuck out. Maybe he's just missing Dean and making things up? He hopes so. God, but he really hopes so.</p>
<p>"Um… Yeah, sure, okay…" Sam answers haltingly but makes no move to disentangle himself from Steve, his head still rested on Steve's chest. </p>
<p>Steve chuckles and holds still for a while. Sam can feel the mood shift into something more serious. "You wanna talk about it?"</p>
<p>"Talk about what?"</p>
<p>"What's eating at you?"</p>
<p>"What makes you think something's eating at me?" Sam says and trails a finger in the sweat on Steve's chest.</p>
<p>"You broke up with your boyfriend, and now you can barely tear yourself away from me long enough to eat? Sam. I may be dumb, but I ain't <i>that</i> stupid. You don't wanna talk about it, fine, but I can recognize when I'm nothing but a distraction."</p>
<p>"Mike wasn't my boyfriend. It was casual."</p>
<p>Steve laughs. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Since you got together, he hasn't even so much as looked at anyone else. And you always hang out. There's nothing casual about how you two acted. What did he do?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. I broke it off. He was gonna dump me anyway."</p>
<p>"No way. He said that?" Steve sounds genuinely surprised and bends his arm to stroke Sam's hair. Vicious rain pelts the windowpane and roof, making steady background noise.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Then why would he dump you? Dude seems crazy about you."</p>
<p>"He never wants to have sex with me," Sam says, his gut churning. He can't figure out what's wrong with him. Why why why doesn't Mike want him?</p>
<p>Steve's silent for a beat. The silence is nearly uncomfortable. "Bro… is that the only reason you dated him? You wanted to bone him?"</p>
<p>"No. Of course not."</p>
<p>"He say why he doesn't want to fuck?" Steve asks with a troubled tone.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"And you talked about it? Maybe you could find an alternative? Like, I dunno, jerk off together or something?" Steve suggests, gesturing with his free hand.</p>
<p>Sam frowns, studiously looking at his fingers trailing over Steve's chest. "That's not sex."</p>
<p>"Sure it is. Hey, come on. You can't mean it's that important to you to get off that you ditch a guy just because he won't let you fuck him? I thought you liked each other?"</p>
<p>"We do! I do." Sam's frown deepens. That stupid, confused feeling buzzing under his skin again.</p>
<p>Steve's quiet for a bit again, taking a few half-breaths as if he's about to say something, instantly changing his mind. The silence stretches, then suddenly Steve dislodges Sam and sits up. "Hey, Sam, look at me," he says seriously.</p>
<p>Sam sits up and raises his eyebrows in question. Steve looks dead-serious. "What?"</p>
<p>"Do I need to kick his ass?" Steve asks gravely. When Sam's too stunned to answer, Steve goes on. "Cuz he seems like a great guy, but so does dad if you don't know him. I don't know if Mike's like him. If he is, just say the word, an' I'll kick his ass."</p>
<p>Sam chuckles bemusedly. "Mike is the kindest, sweetest, most wonderful person I've ever met, Steve."</p>
<p>"Huh. A'ight." Steve shrugs. "Sorry. You just don't seem to be a shallow asshole that would dump someone for not putting out."</p>
<p>"I've told you, I don't put my dick where it isn't wanted," Sam says with a frown and a growing ball of anxiety in his belly.</p>
<p>"Whatever, man. Maybe he's just having a problem breaking the bro code? You don't fuck your bro's girlfriend or crush. Unless you're in a three-way. You know," Steve goes to his knees, straddling Sam, then he rolls his hips, lifting his arms with bent elbows, and sings, "<i> It's okay when it's in a 3-way. It's not gay when it's in a 3-way. With a honey in the middle, there's some leeway.</i>”</p>
<p>Sam sniggers. “<i>Dude</i>. If I have a three-way with Nick and Mike, it's gonna be as gay as it gets," he jokes dryly.</p>
<p>Steve cackles. "Yeah, yeah. But Nick's fucked on you, and he's Mike's brother. Maybe that messes with Mike's boner. The fuck do I know?" He grins and slaps Sam's stomach with the back of his hand. "Now come on. Let's roll and play some pool."</p>
<p>Sam recognizes the no-chick-flick-moments for what it is. Steve has a limited tolerance for personal talks. For once, Sam's grateful. He can't shake the feeling of having done something wrong.</p><hr/>
<p>A few hours later, they exit a cab and run to enter Pub Anchor to avoid the chilly downpour. The rain feels like liquified ice, and gusts of wind blow away body heat. Sam's not dressed for this kind of weather. He's outgrown the jacket he had when he arrived in California, and today's freak weather is an anomaly he's unprepared for. His windbreaker is nearly soaked through when they reach the pub door and enter. He checks his jacket into the wardrobe and follows Steve inside.</p>
<p>Ennis, Andy, Annie, Brady, and Lisa are already here, standing by the bar. Steve and Sam head straight for them, but before they're halfway there, Nick's voice has Sam stopping in his tracks.</p>
<p>"<b>SAM!</b> You utter piece of garbage!" Nick's heading straight for Sam from the back of the locale. He looks like an oncoming thunderstorm. He speaks when he's six feet away from Sam. "You got a lotta nerve, showing your face here. I'm <i>this</i> close to giving you the beating of your fucking life." He holds up his forefinger and thumb in a gesture of measurement and advances on Sam, his lips a hard line drawn up to show teeth―a wolf about to attack. </p>
<p>Sam's taken aback, frozen in place by the fury in Nick's eyes. Terrified, he can't move. This is going to hurt. He's got no idea why Nick's pissed off at him. <i>’Don't get uppity with me, boy</i>.’ Dad's voice echoes in his head. He can't remember dad ever saying that, yet the phrase has kept popping into his head when he gets scared. This is going to hurt hurt hurt. He did something wrong. He's crossed one of those fucking lines in the sand that everyone sees except him. His heart rabbits furiously in his chest, making him cold all over.</p>
<p>Nick reaches for his collar, lips pulled up in a snarl, but then Steve's suddenly between them, puffed up and challenging. "Fucking <i>chill</i>, limp-dick! You ain't touching Sam. The fuck's your problem?"</p>
<p>"<i>CHILL?!</i> Don't tell me to chill, you fucking jerkface! My brother has abandonment issues. He's backsliding so hard he hasn't been able to leave his home for three days! He's a stuttering mess because of that piece of shit, right there!" Nick points viciously at Sam while turning his attention to Steve.</p>
<p>Steve shoves him. "Just because your 30-year-old brother's a crybaby doesn't give you the right to beat up the book nerd, fucktard. You wanna throw fists, here I am. Come on, asswipe. Do your worst."</p>
<p>Nick's purple with rage, nostrils flaring. "This is between Sam and me, you fucking fairywren. I don't have the time or the crayon to explain things to you, you dumb fucking pillock. I―"</p>
<p>Sam doesn't hear the rest. He turns and runs to the exit. Mike's sad. He hurt Mike. </p>
<p><i>Oh shit. I did to Mike exactly what Brady did to me, and I didn't even understand that I was doing it.</i> </p>
<p>Sam rips the door open and runs out in the cold downpour. He ignores the puddles on the ground and the slow-driving cars on the street, legging it as fast as he can arrow-straight for Mike's apartment. Fat, icy droplets come down more densely than in a shower, pelts his skin, numbing it. The strong wind steals his body heat and makes each breath burn. He barely feels it, too focused on getting to Mike. </p>
<p>He's soaked to the skin, lactic acid burning. By the time he finally gets to Mike's building, he's nauseous from exertion. Still, he runs up the stairs, unlocks, and stumbles inside, calling out Mike's name. There's no answer. He kicks off his shoes and goes into the apartment, leaving wet footprints with his soaked socks. He finds Mike sitting on the bed against the headboard, knees pulled up to his chest, rocking himself with headphones on. He's got dark bruises under his eyes from sleeplessness, his hair's a mess, and he's wearing the same clothes he had on when Sam left.</p>
<p>Mike doesn't look up until the bed dips under Sam's weight. His eyebrows draw up in surprise, and he removes the headphones. "Sam? What are you―<i>Ouff!</i>" Mike's words are cut off with a grunt when Sam tackles him into an embrace and clings. </p>
<p>"I'm sorry, I'm sss-sorry, I'm sorry. I di-di-didn't mean to hurt you. I'm d-dumb. I'm so damn stupid. I'm sorry, Mike, I sh-sh-shouldn't have run out on you," Sam babbles, teeth chattering so hard it's difficult to talk. </p>
<p>"You're not stupid, Sam. Jesus, you're soaked and ice-cold! Sam, we need to get you out of your clothes and warmed up before you get sick," Mike says with a worried voice and attempts to dislodge him.</p>
<p>"No no. I'm s-s-stupid. I love you, Mike. But I'm de-de-dense. Slow. I know I am. I do-do-don't know much, but one of the few things I know, is to not pu-pu-put my dick where it isn't wanted. You don't want to have sex with me, so I thought you wanted t-t-to get rid of me. I'm sorry. I did to you what Brady did to me, and I didn't even see it. I'm so du-du-dumb. I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"It's okay, Sammy, but you need to change clothes. You'll catch a cold. Sam―"</p>
<p>Sam lets go of his cling to grasp Mike's face between his hands and force him to look at Sam. "No. Listen. I love you, Mike." Mike had said, '<i>I know how it is to go around wondering if people just put up with you or find you annoying or needy.</i>' Sam's known of Mike's insecurities from the start. How the hell did he manage to forget? "I love b-b-being with you. You're my best friend. Apart from my brother, you're the person I care f-f-for the most. You're not too c-c-clingy or needy. You're great in every possible way. I'm an idiot. You said you're mature enough to t-t-talk about your feelings, but I didn't even give you a chance. I'm sorry. I've missed you. I <i>want</i> to be with you.” He's trembling from the cold, getting water all over Michael's bed. It doesn't matter. Nothing is more important than getting his point through.</p>
<p>Mike draws a breath to answer, but no words come out for several seconds. Then his eyes start filling with tears, his face crumbling. Sam tugs him into another embrace just as the first sob tears itself free. This time, Mike wraps his arms around him to cling, letting himself be held. Sam's got a big lump in his throat, tearing up in response to Mike's pain. Jess and Sarah had cried, and he'd felt bad about it, but it was nothing like this. Now Sam's heart's bleeding as if he'd hurt a part of himself by agonizing Mike. He rocks Mike, mumbling, "I'm sorry," over and over between teeth that won't stop chattering.</p>
<p>Eventually, Mike stops crying and carefully frees himself. “<i>Jesus</i>, Sam. You're shaking. You need to get out of your clothes. What were you doing outside with no jacket?" he scolds with worry in his red-rimmed eyes.</p>
<p>"I ran here from Anchor when N-n-nick said you weren't okay. Forgot my jacket."</p>
<p>"You forgot―? Samshine, you're an idiot. Come on," Mike chides with concerned affection.</p>
<p>The sprint is catching up to Sam. His limbs feel like jelly, and his fingers feel like fire now that they begin to thaw. He's trembling, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Mike helps him out of his clothes, takes his phone and wallet out of the pockets, puts them on the nightstand, and leads him to the bathroom. Sam's painfully aware of the telltale bruises on his hips and the love-bite on his shoulder. Steve doesn't leave intentional marks, but they'd been going at it uninhibited. Guilt makes Sam want to throw up.</p>
<p>"Get in the shower. I'll go get you clean clothes."</p>
<p>Sam grabs Mike's arm to stop him from leaving. "I've had sex."</p>
<p>Mike's gaze flicks down to the distinctive fingerprint bruises on Sam's hip and back up again. "I know."</p>
<p>"I thought you'd be relieved that I was gone."</p>
<p>"Sam, your lips are blue. Can we talk about this when you're warm and dry?"</p>
<p>Sam nods and lets Mike go. "You should join me. You look like you haven't showered since I left."</p>
<p>Mike hesitates and looks at the door. He makes a face, weighs from one foot to the other, then heaves a sigh and starts to undress. Sam turns on the water. It's barely tepid―always takes a moment to heat up―but feels scalding to Sam's chilled skin. Mike steps into the shower but waits beside the spray until the water heats up. Then he joins Sam, wrapping his arms around his back, and holds him until Sam stops shivering. Sam takes a dollop of shower gel in his hand and turns around to start lathering Mike up, backing them out of the spray.</p>
<p>Mike looks so fucking broken, exhausted, sad, defeated. Sam has an intense urge to fix it, to take care of Mike.</p>
<p>
  <i>I did this to him. I did this to him.</i>
</p>
<p>Sam isn't a caretaker. He wants to be, but he's not sure what he's supposed to do. His job was always to be available. To smile, be grateful, follow instructions, cause pleasure, and be a passive good boy. That doesn't apply here, so he's at a loss. Dean was the one tasked with caretaking while dad was away, and Sam had his head stuck in the clouds.</p>
<p>Mike hangs his head and lets Sam wash him, but when Sam reaches for his dick, Mike puts his hand in the way. "I'll do that," he says and grabs the shower gel to take a small dollop.</p>
<p>"Okay. Turn around," Sam answers, wondering why it felt like a sucker-punch.</p>
<p>Mike turns around and allows Sam to wash his backside.</p>
<p>"Have you eaten?" Sam asks. Dean was always particular about that when Sam felt down or was sick. Dean was always obsessing about food, period.</p>
<p>"Yes. Gabe forced me to. They stopped by before the gig," Mike says and turns around to give Sam a tired smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "My turn," he says, takes another soapy dollop, and starts washing Sam. He leaves Sam to clean his own private parts. It's such a small thing, but it feels like a gigantic wall between them. It can't be fixed by sex since sex is the problem—Sam's at a loss, his gut churning.</p>
<p>They rinse off. Mike steps out of the shower and quickly towels himself dry. "I'll go fetch clothes. Be right back," he says and leaves the bathroom while Sam's still under the spray. He comes back when Sam shuts the shower off. He's already dressed in a soft tee and a pair of Adidas pants. "I'll go put your phone on charge. Come to the bedroom when you're done, and we'll talk."</p>
<p>"Okay." Nervous worms crawl under Sam's skin. He messed up. He's ruined everything. He dries himself and gets dressed in Nick's castoffs; a pair of black sweatpants and a long-sleeved Alice in chains shirt. If he hadn't run out, nothing of this would've happened. <i>Regret. Regret. Regret.</i></p>
<p>Sam's phone rings while he's entering the bedroom. He tenses up, heart in his throat. Mike's sitting on the bed beside the nightstand where Sam's phone is charging. "If it's Kelvin, can you tell him you found the phone on the street?" Sam asks.</p>
<p>"Uh, sure?" Mike answers bemusedly and picks up the phone to check the caller ID. "It's Steve."</p>
<p>"Oh shit. Steve!" Sam dives for the phone, and Mike hands it over. Sam answers with a ball of worry in his gut. "Steve! Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"</p>
<p>Steve sniggers. "Nah, man, we're cool. He bought me a beer. They're on stage now. Gabe and Ennis stopped things from escalating to a fight. Are <i>you</i> alright?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I'm with Mike. Look, you didn't have to step between like that. You could've been hurt."</p>
<p>Steve laughs. "Sam, I can give as good as I get. You might've beefed up, but you're still a book nerd who can't fight. Don't worry about it."</p>
<p>"I owe you," Sam says and sits down beside Mike.</p>
<p>Steve tssks. "Buy me a beer the next time we go out, and we'll call it even. You and loverboy back together?"</p>
<p>"No. Yes. No. I don't know. We're just about to talk."</p>
<p>"A'ight. Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I'll give you a call tomorrow. I've got your back, bro."</p>
<p>"Thanks. Take care."</p>
<p>"What happened?" Mike asks when Sam's hung up.</p>
<p>"Nick was about to punch me, I think, but Steve stepped in to stop him."</p>
<p>A look of frustration flickers over Mike's face, and he mutters, "Dammit, Nick," under his breath. Then, louder, he asks, "Who's Kelvin?"</p>
<p>"He's, um, the married man, that, um…" Sam answers and runs a hand over his hair to smooth it back.</p>
<p>"Who took you to New York and you can't break up with?"</p>
<p>Sam nods.</p>
<p>Mike drags a hand over the lower part of his face. "Okay. Alright. Can we talk? About why you ran out on me?"</p>
<p>"Of course. I'm sorry, Mike. I shouldn't have. I'm stupid. I―"</p>
<p>Mike's lips pull up in a lopsided smile. He raises a hand to press a finger lightly against Sam's lips to stop him from talking. "It's okay. You let your own insecurities get in the way. I do that all the time. I didn't see it coming, so when you put me on the spot, I panicked and froze up." He shifts to sit cross-legged, facing Sam. Sam twists, pulls up one leg on the bed to face Mike head-on, their knees touching. Mike's smile fades. "But... you were right. I don't want to have sex with you," he says gravely.</p>
<p>It's like getting a bucket of ice water thrown in his face. Sam's stomach drops. From one moment to the next, he goes numb all over.</p>
<p>It must've shown on his face because Mike puts a warm hand on his knee. "No. Listen. I love you, Sam. We'd have to have this talk soon even if you hadn't run out on me, because I'm perilously close to falling in love with you. I wouldn't be able to do casual for very much longer. You're not the only one who's been trying out the boyfriend-title in your head. But if we crossed that line, you'd have to stop having sex with others and never flirt with anyone else, not even Nick, or you'd obliterate me."</p>
<p>"I can do that," Sam hastens to assure.</p>
<p>Mike raises an eyebrow. "Kelvin?"</p>
<p>Sam hisses in frustration and runs a hand over his wet hair again, averting his face to look at anything but Mike. "I. I don't. I―" How can he explain things without breaking his promise not to talk?</p>
<p>Mike cups Sam's cheek and gently forces him to meet his gaze. There's only warmth in his eyes. "Listen to me, Sam. You and Nick are crazy about each other. I don't want to get between you."</p>
<p>"So it's the bro code?"</p>
<p>Mike hiccups a small giggle and raises his eyebrows bemusedly.</p>
<p>"I talked to Steve about us," Sam admits with a rueful look.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and lets his hand fall down on Sam's thigh. "He's partially right. It's not all, though. When I say I don't want to have sex with you, I don't mean you don't turn me on. You're so hot it drives me crazy sometimes. But you keep triggering―"</p>
<p>"So you lied. I <i>did</i> ruin it. I'm sorry. I don't know why it keeps happening, I―"</p>
<p>"Sssh," Mike hushes. "You told me why already."</p>
<p>Sam scowls. "No, I haven't. How could I have told you when I don't know myself?"</p>
<p>"You said you've never felt so safe with anyone before and never wanted it as much as you do with me. If that is true, it means you're letting your guard down. Feelings that are normally locked away come rushing, and that's why you keep triggering. Something traumatic has happened to you. For whatever reason, you feel safe enough with me that your brain is prepared to deal with it and lets it bubble to the surface." Mike looks down at his hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth over Sam's thigh. "With the experiences my brothers and I have had in life, our worst fear is to become like one of 'them'. I don't know how much psychology you've read, but I can tell you that the risk is pretty damn significant. Someone who gets beaten as a child is much more likely to hit. You hear them say, 'I was beaten, and I turned out just fine.' But they didn't. Because they grew up thinking it's okay to hurt someone who can't defend themselves, who is completely dependent on them for survival. And we always walk a tightrope, risking falling over either to become an abuser or to be abused. I'm always overthinking, always defaulting to taking the blame when someone hurts me. I―" Mike cuts off sharply, his calm demeanor evaporating. He looks at Sam with eyes so full of angst; it makes Sam want to throw up. "<i>Please</i>, don't walk out of my life," he pleads quietly.</p>
<p>Sam reaches out and tugs him to his chest, kissing his temple. "I won't. I <i> won't </i>," he promises with all the conviction he can muster. </p>
<p> Mike clings for several seconds. He takes several deep breaths, swallows audibly, then frees himself to sit up straight again. He takes Sam's hands and intertwines their fingers. “<i>Phew</i>. Okay, okay. Just let me talk." He gives Sam a determined, close-lipped smile before he goes on. "I love you, Sam. That's not an empty word. We haven't known each other all that long, but I already know that I want you to be a permanent fixture in my life if I get to choose."</p>
<p>"Me too. You're my closest friend. I love you too," Sam agrees empathically.</p>
<p>Mike nods. He has a concerned wrinkle between his eyes. "When I say I don't want to have sex with you, I don't mean I don't desire you. Do you understand?"</p>
<p>Sam opens his mouth to answer that, yes, yes, he does. But he's not sure if that's true, so he presses his lips together.</p>
<p>Mike sighs. "Look, Samshine, I <i>want</i> to fuck your brains out, okay? But if we push through, I know I'm going to get hurt." He lets go of one of Sam's hands to lay his hand over his heart. "I, with my insecurities, can't handle open relationships. Anytime you flirt with someone else, even Nick, I'd wonder why I'm not good enough. Anytime you come home with…" he reaches out and briefly touches Sam's shoulder where Steve left a love-bite under the shirt, "it would send me spiraling into self-doubt. Anytime your phone rings and you have to go without offering an explanation, or worse, lie about the reason, my self-confidence would disintegrate. If we keep up the sexual part of our relationship, you will destroy me. Please, Sam, can we just be friends?" he pleads.</p>
<p>Sam's lip wobbles. He has to look away. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods.</p>
<p>"Sex is so damned important to you―"</p>
<p>Sam's head snaps back to look at Mike. He interrupts Mike by rushedly refuting, "No it isn't."</p>
<p>Mike chuckles, a spark of his typical, warm humor in his eyes. "Come on. When you're on the couch tinkering with your writing while I'm playing the piano, my soul sings. When you're on the couch reading with your toes under my thigh as I play guitar, the air is humming with my contentment and bliss at being with you. I can't even put words to describe my elation when you showed me the two poems you wrote and then let me make music out of them. I love being with you. But you picked up on my apprehension about having sex with you, and you were out of here like," he bites his lip and snaps his fingers.</p>
<p>Sam sniffles. "I'm sorry. I got scared. I was sure you were gonna cut me loose. I'm slow, Mike. I don't get stuff. I don't know much, so I desperately hold on to what I know. I know when I'm wanted, and I…" He squeezes his eyes shut when another sob comes.</p>
<p>Mike pulls him in for another hug. “<i>Shhh</i>. It's okay. It's okay. Let's crawl under the blanket. It'd make me feel better if we held each other while we talked. Would you do that for me?"</p>
<p>Yes. At this point, Sam would do anything for Mike as long as they kept touching each other.</p><hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. GABRIEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam is sick, and doubts his own thoughts and feelings. He decides to talk with someone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>Michael hears the lock in the key and carefully extracts himself from Sam. His brothers enter the apartment noisily, and Mike grimaces as he closes the bedroom door, hoping Sam won't wake up.<p>"Hey, Mickaroo! Have you―"</p>
<p>"<i>Sssh!</i> Sam's sleeping," Mike whispers harshly when Gabe comes into the living room.</p>
<p>Gabe holds up his hands and does a U-turn towards the kitchen. Mike goes to see what's taking Nick so long. He peeks into the hallway to see Nick trying to balance Sam's wet sneakers upside down on the radiator, tongue poking out in concentration. Mike steps fully into the doorway and crosses his arms sternly over his chest.</p>
<p>As if Nick can feel Mike's disapproval, he straightens and turns to face Mike, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken, 'What?'</p>
<p>"Sam said you were about to kick his ass," Mike whispers accusingly.</p>
<p>"He hurt you," Nick answers petulantly.</p>
<p>“<i>He’s seventeen!</i>” Mike hisses.</p>
<p>Nick averts his gaze with a whiny grimace, shoulders sagging.</p>
<p>"And Steve?" Mike demands.</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head, still not looking at Mike. "I had no beef with him, and Sam ran off, so…"</p>
<p>Mike steps up to Nick, puts a hand on his upper arm, and bends so he can meet Nick's averted gaze. "Nick. Sam's a seventeen-year-old boy dealing with his first serious relationship ending. He doesn't deserve to take a beating for it." Mike and Nick have different stances when violence is merited, but in this case, even Nick should be able to tell he's in the wrong.</p>
<p>“I know. I <i>know</i>.”</p>
<p>"He legit thought I'd be relieved."</p>
<p>"That's bullshit. What the hell gave him that idea?" Nick says with a frown.</p>
<p>Gabe comes to join them, carrying three bottles of beer. "Is this where we're converging?" he asks and hands them one beer each.</p>
<p>Mike shakes his head, gives Nick's arm a squeeze before turning and walking towards the couch in the living room. The rain has let up, and tomorrow's weather forecast promised 68F and a cloudless sky. Today's storm with its dip to 45F is a freak occurrence, and Mike worries Sam might get pneumonia due to his mad dash. He sits down on the couch, Gabe bouncing down beside him a second later. </p>
<p>Gabe nudges him. "You alright?"</p>
<p>Mike shakes his head and lets out a big sigh. He rubs a hand over his face, takes a swig of his beer, and answers just as Nick sits down beside him. "No. Not even remotely alright. I should get a diploma for how well I kept it together while I talked to him."</p>
<p>"You've been crying," Nick points out.</p>
<p>Mike rubs his eyes as if that somehow would erase the evidence and make them less red-rimmed. "Yes. We both cried. Repeatedly," he confesses. "You know that idiot ran here from the Anchor? No jacket, no nothing. He was cold as ice when he got here. I nearly squealed from the cold when he threw himself at me." He chuckles humorlessly. His brothers remain silent, waiting for him to go on. He takes another sip of beer to collect himself. He's emotionally drained, exhausted to the bone. "You know what that beautiful bastard did? He wouldn't let me get him dry and warmed up until I'd listened to him. The first thing he said to me was that I'm not too clingy and needy. That he loves me, loves being with me, that he's at fault, and―" he hisses and presses his fingers against his eyes, or he might start crying again. A few deep breaths, and he can go on. "His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely get the words out, but he still refused to do anything about it until he could alleviate my anxieties." </p>
<p>"Are you back together?" Nick asks. They're speaking with quiet voices not to wake Sam up. It's risky, talking about him when he's in the other room. Mike doesn't want him to hear this conversation.</p>
<p>"No. But it was a close call. He ran out on me because he'd picked up on my apprehension about having sex with him. When we talked, I told him I didn't. I might as well have stabbed him."</p>
<p>Nick frowns. "But you do. You want to fuck him as badly as I do," he argues.</p>
<p>Mike and Gabe turn their heads to raise their eyebrows at him.</p>
<p>Nick waves his hand dismissively. "Nevermind. Go on."</p>
<p>"I can't believe you're arguing right now. You know how I feel about―" Mike starts, but Gabe snaps his fingers in front of his face before the bickering can get started. Mike gives Nick a final dark look before he goes on. "I told him he's right. That I don't want to have sex with him. He looked so damn heartbroken I was ready to throw everything overboard and just do it. Instead, I tried to explain to him why. That almost backfired when I brought up how he triggers. I ended up heaping a shitload of emotional guilt on him to diminish the importance of his flashbacks."</p>
<p>"What did you say?" Gabe prompts.</p>
<p>"I said I couldn't keep doing casual with him, or he'd end up breaking my heart. That he'd have to be faithful, stop flirting with others, you know. Be boyfriends for real. He started trying to convince me he could do that, and if it wasn't for Kelvin, I'd be sitting here with a seventeen-year-old boyfriend right now."</p>
<p>"Who's Kelvin?"<br/>
“<i>Who’s Kelvin?</i>”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles at how both his brothers speak simultaneously but with vastly different tones, Nick nearly growling the question. "His married lover he can't break up with. There was an incident just before we were about to talk. His phone rang, and he asked me to say I'd found the phone on the street if it was Kelvin. I don't know what the guy has on Sam, but I'm damn certain Sam wants to end it."</p>
<p>"Did you suggest he get another phone number? He could move in with you or Nick until school starts, and he goes back to his dorm. If the dude can't get a hold of him, he's free," Gabe suggests.</p>
<p>"I had it on the tip of my tongue. But the goal was to end the sexual part of my relationship with Sam and keep him as a friend. If I started solving his problem, I'd find myself in deeper shit than I already am. Like Nick said, I don't actually <i>want</i> to end it. He's so damn hot and enthusiastic. If he climbs into my lap and kisses me when I'm drunk, he'll suck me right back in. All the bullshit I told him tonight should earn me the adult-medal of responsibility."</p>
<p>"Bullshit?" Nick prompts.</p>
<p>Mike picks on the beer label. "Not really. I kept telling him he'd end up hurting me if we kept our romance up. I'm sure it's true, but you know that isn't the important part. Personally, I think it was cruel to heap the emotional burden on him. But it seemed like it was the only way I'd be able to convince him." Guilt about it weighs a ton. Mike's torn. Part of him was so tempted to take Sam's offer to be boyfriends for real. It's only the long-term consequences holding him back. He's heartbroken and relieved at the same time.</p>
<p>"Do you think you'll manage to remain friends?" Gabe asks.</p>
<p>"I don't know. I hope so. I told him we both should see other people and that we shouldn't do anything sexual, but if he needs a hug or a cuddle, that's okay. But we'll see what he'll do in the upcoming weeks. I-I just…" Mike's damn lip wobbles again, as if he hasn't cried enough already. Breakups are never, ever easy.</p>
<p>Nick sets his beer bottle down on the living room table and tugs him into a hug. This isn't the first time he's had to piece Mike back together after a breakup, but it's the first time they want to keep the person who broke Mike's heart around.</p><hr/>
<p>When Mike paid for a cab home for him yesterday morning, Sam's throat had been a bit sore. Today, he's running a fever, feeling like he's been hit by a truck. He hasn't even got the energy to get out of bed to make coffee. He lies on his belly and aches for Dean. Back home, when he was sick, and dad had to work, Dean would take care of him. He'd make soup and pester Sam to eat. He'd put a cold, wet towel on Sam's forehead, make tea, complain about how lame Sam was who had to get sick and stop Dean from doing whatever Dean did when he didn't babysit. But those were good-natured complaints. He'd whistle. Dean always whistled. It was one of those constants in Sam's life. No matter where they lived, Dean was continually making noise in the background if he was at home. Sam's tempted to open Spotify and see if he can find a playlist with whistling songs just so he could pretend Dean's around. But he can't find the energy to reach for his phone.</p>
<p>An hour later, he has to pull himself out of his miserable half-slumber and reach for his phone since it's making noise. He doesn't even look at the caller ID. "Hello?" he rasps and lays the phone on his ear.</p>
<p>"Hey, boo. Can you meet me at the pier in an hour? I want to take you to the cabin."</p>
<p>That would actually have been nice and a good distraction from thoughts of Michael. But, "I'm sorry. I can't. I'm sick," Sam answers. His nose is all clogged, and his voice sounds like Dean's that time when Dean ate chalk so he could fool dad he couldn't go to school.</p>
<p>"Aw, no. I can hear that. Poor, babe. You still at the Lotus?" </p>
<p>"Mhm."</p>
<p>"A'ight. I'll pop over in a bit."</p>
<p>Sam makes a noise of agreement then frowns at his phone after they've said goodbye. He'd expected Kelvin to be mad, or annoyed, or, or something. He puts the phone back on his nightstand. Thoughts of Michael keep buzzing in his head. He keeps thinking of what Steve said about being shallow. Is he shallow? No. Sex isn’t <i>that</i> important to him. It hurts, though, that Mike doesn't want to sleep with him. Mike is one of the very few people Sam <i>wants</i> to have sex with. He's even jerked off once thinking about it, and he never jerks off. Thinking about all this worsens his headache, so he closes his eyes and dozes off.</p>
<p>A knock on his door wakes him up. The knock comes again, more determined this time.</p>
<p>"Coming!" Sam calls up, then struggles to a sitting position. A moment ago, he'd wished he didn't have to be by himself, and now he wants to be left alone to die in peace. He takes a moment to gather his wits about, wraps his blanket around himself, and drags himself to open the door. Kelvin stands outside with a heavy-looking cardboard box and a plastic bag.</p>
<p>Kelvin smiles when he sees Sam, eyes warm and compassionate. "Aww. Look at you, boo. You look miserable. I picked up some provisions on my way," and flicks a gaze at the bag he's carrying.</p>
<p>Sam steps aside to let him in, a bit confused. This is not what he's come to expect from Kelvin. Kelvin does a lot of romantic stuff, then they fuck like dogs. Unless Kelvin's into fucking unconscious people, Sam's in no shape to service him right now. On the other hand, he learned the hard way some people are into that when he hitchhiked from New York. He tries not to think about it. "I can't have sex with you right now," Sam states off the bat while closing the door.</p>
<p>Kelvin puts down the box and bag on Sam's table and chuckles. "Nah, man. I can see that." He walks up to Sam and wraps his arms around him. "You don't think that's all you are to me, right? I care about you, boo. You know I do. Right?"</p>
<p>Sam wants to scream in frustration. Why is everyone all of a sudden telling him sex isn't essential to them? They're stomping all over one of his hard truths, making him feel lost and floundering. </p>
<p>"Right?" Kelvin prompts.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know," Sam lies.</p>
<p>Kelvin smiles again and gives him a peck on the cheek. "Damn. You're burning up. Get yourself back in bed, and I'll fix you something to eat and drink. Have you taken any Tylenol?" he asks when he frees himself and walks to the table.</p>
<p>"No. I've run out," Sam says and makes his way back to the bed as ordered.</p>
<p>"Brought you a bottle. Oh, and this?" Kelvin puts a hand on the box he brought and grins at Sam. "It's all the books you'll be needing for your classes this semester. Figured I'd save you the money. Free up some of your time, so you don't have to work so much."</p>
<p>Sam could cry from sheer relief. There is a cynical part of him that wonders if Kelvin did that so Sam will be readily available to him. That is a new part of him he doesn't like; suspicious and resentful. But books are expensive, and now Sam will only have to worry about keeping himself fed. "Thank you. I-I don't know what to say. I―" he says and sits down heavily on the bed.</p>
<p>Kelvin chuckles. "I thought you'd like it." He rummages in his bag, takes up the bottle of Tylenol, fetches a glass of water, and goes to give it to Sam. "Here you go, boo."</p>
<p>Sam extends his arm from his blanket to take the glass while Kelvin pops a pill out of the bottle.</p>
<p>"Where's your bracelet?" Kelvin asks with a look at Sam's wrist when Sam holds out his hand for the pill.</p>
<p>
  <i>Dammit!</i>
</p>
<p>Sam takes the pill, swallows it, drinks the water, then pulls out his nightstand drawer to take the bracelet out. He lays it on the nightstand. "Took it off. The fever made my skin feel itchy," Sam not quite lies. Both statements are factual; there's just no correlation between them.</p>
<p>"A'ight. Makes sense. I worried you'd lost it."</p>
<p>"Never," Sam says with a small smile and looks at the hated bracelet. It's lying with its underside up, the name Kelvin on proud display. Sam tips to the side to lay down again. "How's your daughter?" he asks out of politeness and closes his eyes.</p>
<p>Kelvin goes to the kitchenette, telling Sam the latest news about the girl. She's back to riding again after the accident. Sam can't muster to care. He's dozing off again.</p>
<p>"Who's that?"</p>
<p>Sam opens his eyes to find Kelvin standing by his bed, holding a plate with a sandwich and a sliced and peeled apple. He's put a glass of juice on the nightstand, but Kelvin's looking at Sam's phone lying next to the glass. Its screen has light up as if Kelvin has touched it. Sam wonders if he was snooping or if it was an accidental touch.</p>
<p>"That's Lucifer. He's a singer in my favorite band."</p>
<p>"You like him?"</p>
<p>Too tired to deny it, Sam answers, "Yeah. He's hot as hell, an awesome guitar player, and when he sings, he's sex on legs." He chuckles ruefully. "I mustered up the courage to go talk to him after a gig. He told me to piss off. I've never felt so embarrassed in my life."</p>
<p>Kelvin chuckles, but his eyes narrow. </p>
<p>Sam makes his face shape a cheeky smirk. "You told me to be faithful, not to be <i>blind</i>," he sasses.</p>
<p>That startles a laugh out of Kelvin. "I guess. So he's your type then? He looks a bit like that other guy I saw you hanging out with last semester. Brady was it?"</p>
<p>"I don't have a type. I think he's hot. I think you're hot. Don't make a hen out of a feather. It's not exactly as if I can put a pic of you on my lock screen. If I do, people will start asking questions when the semester starts."</p>
<p>Kelvin sniggers. "True. I think the tea is done. Dig in while I go fetch it."</p>
<p>Sam sits up and watches Kelvin, wondering if he really got away with confessing his attraction to someone else. There's nothing in Kelvin's posture that says he's angry. He starts nibbling at the sandwich while he waits for Kelvin to come back.</p>
<p>When Kelvin comes, he takes a chair with him, puts down the tea, and sits on the chair next to Sam's bed, facing Sam. "So what have you been up to since we last saw each other?"</p>
<p>"Aside from getting stuck outside in that freak storm for thirty minutes, you mean?" Sam jokes. He's torn between being grateful for the care and being on his toes. He's so tired of lying. "Nothing special. Worked a couple of shifts at Gallup. Gone to the gym. Hung out with friends. We're a gang from school who've been meeting up every week to watch the Archangels play and grab a few beers."</p>
<p>"And How's the writing coming?"</p>
<p>Sam's about to answer when there's a knock on the door.</p>
<p>Kelvin frowns. "You expecting anyone?"</p>
<p>"No. I wasn't even expecting you," Sam answers and takes a slice of apple. He can barely taste anything, with his nose and throat all congested. He wonders if it's Steve. Steve's the only one who frequently visits him. But Steve always calls ahead. A perverse part of him would find it funny to watch the professor try to come up with excuses for why he's visiting Sam if he came face to face with another student.</p>
<p>Kelvin pats his thigh. "I'll get it," he says and gets up to go open the door. It's another unanticipated action. Sam hadn't planned to even acknowledge the knock. Curious, he sets the plate away and takes the tea instead, watching Kelvin open the door. "Can I help you?" Kelvin asks.</p>
<p>Sam sips his minty tea and looks at the door opening. Kelvin holds the door open and leans his arm on the door frame, blocking the entrance and view so Sam can't see who it is. He recognizes the voice, though. It isn't Steve.</p>
<p>"Sure, you can, bud. Just hold the door open," Gabe chirps, then ducks under Kelvin's arm to enter. "Heya, Samoose! I brought you something. <i>Yikes!</i> I see your Jackass-edition of the Ice Bucket challenge was a bad idea, huh?" he says with a big grin and puts a paper box on Sam's lap. "Here. For you."</p>
<p>"Who are you?" Kelvin asks with a smile that's more a show of teeth.</p>
<p>Gabe turns and walks up to him in two large strides, offering his hand to shake with a big grin. "Gabe Slate, a friend of Sam's."</p>
<p>Kelvin shakes his hand on auto-pilot. "Kelvin Marcus. What are you doing here? Sam said he wasn't expecting any guests."</p>
<p>"Oh, you know. A young boy all alone in a big city. I figured some company was in order."</p>
<p>"Sam isn't alone," Kelvin answers, still showing teeth in a mockery of a smile.</p>
<p>"<i>Sam?</i> Who's talking about Sam? I meant me," Gabe jokes and goes back to Sam to plop himself down on Kelvin's chair. "Go on, open it," he tells Sam and gestures to the box.</p>
<p>Sam puts his tea away. He can see Gabe's gaze flick to the bracelet when Sam puts the cup beside it. Gabe's gaze doesn't linger. He looks back at Sam and gestures at the box again with an anticipatory grin. Sam flips the lid and blinks in bemusement. "You brought me flowers?"</p>
<p>Gabe rolls his eyes. "No, numbnuts. They're buttercream succulent cupcakes. A customer didn't collect their order. No way I was going to let that much sugar go to waste." </p>
<p>Sam gapes at the assortment of small, lifelike cacti and succulent plants. "These are edible?"</p>
<p>"Damn straight, they are. And no fondant in sight. Can you believe some idiots use fondants to make stuff like this? I say, if it doesn't melt on your tongue, then what's the point? Don't get me wrong, on some of my bigger projects, I have to use fondant, or the whole thing would," Gabe gestures with his forearm, mimicking something falling over while making a whistling sound effect ending with an explosion impact.</p>
<p>Kelvin's drawn closer out of curiosity and leans over Sam to look in the box. "You made these?" he asks. Gabe nods. “<i>Damn</i>.”</p>
<p>"Yup," Gabe agrees. "I'm a pastry artist. If you don't feel like crying for putting one of my creations in your mouth, destroying them, I've failed. Go ahead and try one," he encourages and picks one from the box, taking a big bite.</p>
<p>Kelvin takes one, studies it with fascination, then takes a careful bite. His eyes go wide, eyebrows climbing upward in surprise. He covers his mouth with a hand to utter an impressed, "<i>Daaayum!</i>"</p>
<p>Sam groans. "Did you have to bring them when I was sick? My tastebuds are nocked out," he whines. Gabe laughs. "It's not funny."</p>
<p>"Are you kidding? It's hilarious. I wasn't even trying to prank you," Gabe sniggers and stuffs his mouth with another big bite.</p>
<p>Sam takes one of the cupcakes, envious of his company. They look incredible, and when he takes a bite, they <i>do</i> melt in his mouth, but all he gets taste-wise is 'vaguely sweet'.</p>
<p>"So how do you two know each other?" Kelvin asks.</p>
<p>"We met at the pub," Sam answers while chewing, "we were both there for the Archangel gig."</p>
<p>Gabe gives him an amused look. "Yup. This guy's a real hoot," Gabe says and points at Sam. "Girl keeps swarming him like, '~Hiii, Sam~,'" he says and bats his eyelashes coquettishly. "But he's completely oblivious."</p>
<p>"I'm not, and they don't," Sam protests.</p>
<p>"Pffhah. Olivia? Cassie? Sarah? Jenny? Trixie? Amanda? I can go on."</p>
<p>"They were just being nice," Sam defends. He's got a small ball of worry in his belly, wondering if Gabe's going to say something that'll get him in trouble. He's nearly too miserable to care.</p>
<p>"See? Oblivious," Gabe says, looking at Kelvin and pointing at Sam. Kelvin chuckles, watching their interactions like a hawk, moderately more relaxed than before.</p>
<p>"How did you know I was sick?" Sam asks and finishes the cupcake.</p>
<p>"Logic. When you got to the pub, your lips were blue," Gabe answers, then looks at Kelvin again. "This idiot was drenched, right? Teeth chattering so hard he could barely talk. I had to threaten to kick his ass to make him go home. But I hadn't anticipated that the chucklehead would actually <i>walk</i> home," he lies.</p>
<p>Sam doesn't know why Gabe's lying, but it's a relief of grand proportions.</p>
<p>"But, I'm not here because you're sick. Kali's back in town," Gabe tells Sam, face going serious. He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out so both of them can see the screen. The notification shows 46 missed calls. "She's my ex," he explains to Kelvin. "We've been dating on and off for six years. She ditches me, then comes back to make my life a living hell just when I'm nearly over her. I love her. Can't resist her. So my brothers have forbidden me to be alone when she's on the prowl. Hence the cupcake delivery service."</p>
<p>"Can't you just switch your phone number?" Kelvin asks, looking for all the world as if he's engaging in the problem, no longer showing apparent signs of hostility.</p>
<p>"I could. But she knows where I live. And I'm trying to be a professional craftsman. I can't go changing my phone number like some pusher dropping burner phones. I've tried to tell her to fuck off, but… You ever been in a relationship with someone you know is bad for you, but they know exactly what to say to pull you back in?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, man. Before I met my wife. That's rough."</p>
<p>Gabe nods. "Yeah, so I'm sticking around for an hour before I'll meet up with my brother. We're trying for full avoidance this time. I'm gonna shack with him for a few weeks to see if she'll finally give up."</p>
<p>"Good luck," Kelvin says, sits down on Sam's bed, and reaches for another cupcake. Sam hands the box over to him with a tendril of envy. They look delicious, and he sorely wishes he could taste them.</p>
<p>"Thanks. So how do you two know each other?" Gabe asks.</p>
<p>Sam grabs his tea and gestures vaguely at Kelvin, leaving him to dictate what lies to tell.</p>
<p>"College. Sam's one of my best students. I know he ain't got much money, so I decided to sponsor him with books for the next semester," Kelvin admits without a trace of shame.</p>
<p>"He's my English lit. Professor," Sam adds and sips his tea.</p>
<p>Gabe looks between the two of them, a mischievous grin growing on his face. "Damn, Sam, you kinky bastard. Screwing a professor? That's like a top-ten fantasy. Good on you!" he says and wiggles his eyebrows meaningfully at both of them.</p>
<p>"Hey, watch it! I ain't fucking my students," Kelvin protests, eyes going dark, hostility back with a vengeance.</p>
<p>"No? Well fuck. Sorry for jumping to conclusions, Teach. Figured it would explain why Sammy's stopped dating, and…" He picks up the bracelet and holds it so Kelvin can see his engraved name, "... you might want to have a very awkward conversation about boundaries after I've left," he finishes and drops the bracelet into the drawer.</p>
<p>"Oh my god," Sam mutters, mortified, and squeezes his eyes shut.</p>
<p>"Hey, I know. I tend to put my foot in my mouth. Forget about it. So, Teach, you heard about…" Gabe changes the topic into something else, like a damned miracle succeeding to put Kelvin back at ease. He tells a couple of hilarious baking-related anecdotes, chatting about girls, mocking Sam's inability to pick up girls, coaxing Sam to tell Kelvin about his first time with a girl―that time when he nearly messed up with Sarah. It's not at all like Gabe to talk this much about women. Sam can’t figure out <i>why</i> he does it. When Gabe leaves, Kelvin gives him a pat on the back and wishes him good luck avoiding Kali.</p>
<p>Kelvin locks, pull down the blinds, and comes back to sit on Sam's bed. "Isn't Gabe a bit too old for you to hang out with?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. "Unlike you?" He shakes his head. "He's only 25. Most of my friends are around that age or slightly younger."</p>
<p>"He was damn rude to enter without waiting for permission. You should be careful about hanging out with people like that. He wants something from you," Kelvin says and strokes hair out of Sam's face.</p>
<p>"Like what? He knows I don't have any money, and he's as straight as they come."</p>
<p>Kelvin chuckles. "Yes, I noticed."</p>
<p>"So what would he want from me?" Sam's genuinely curious about what Kelvin will come up with. </p>
<p>"I don't know, boo. He hasn't tried to sell you drugs, has he?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"I'm just sayin', be careful. I don't trust him."</p>
<p>"You don't trust anyone I hang out with," Sam points out dryly.</p>
<p>"That's because I care about you, boo. I don't want anything to happen to you," Kelvin answers and takes Sam's hand to intertwine their fingers.</p>
<p>Sam sighs and musters a guilty expression. "I'm sorry he thought we were sleeping together. He knows I'm bi, so…"</p>
<p>Kelvin chuckles. "It's not your fault, boo. But you might want to tell him not to tell your friends from school you have a crush on me," he says with a smug smirk and leans down to give Sam a kiss. "How are you feeling?"</p>
<p>"A bit better. My headache is gone."</p>
<p>"A'ight. Rest up. I'll take care of the dishes."</p>
<p>Kelvin stays. Even when Sam dozes off. He fixes soup for dinner, and when Sam feels a bit more alert, he helps Sam take a shower, showering together with him much like Mike had done, except Kelvin seems to be enjoying himself. He stays the night, content to lie cooped up, holding Sam. It's nice. </p>
<p>When Sam wakes up with the early morning light filtering through the blinds' gaps, he no longer feels miserable. His throat is still sore, and his nose a bit stuffy, but that's about it. He extracts himself from Kelvin, goes to relieve himself, brush his teeth, then goes back to put his bracelet back on. Kelvin's awake to see him put it on. Sam crawls back into bed and kisses him, grinding.</p>
<p>"Hey, you sure you feel well enough to do that, boo?" Kelvin mumbles.</p>
<p>"Yes. Please, Kelv."</p>
<p>Kelvin isn't hard to convince, but he's still more careful and sensual than usual. Sam wonders if he's shallow because he needs Kelv to want to take him. Or if it's something else? He needs proof that this really is about sex, no matter what Kelv says.</p>
<p>And yet, the next time he wakes up, Kelv has made them breakfast and keeps doting on Sam without any sexual overtures for the rest of the day.</p>
<p>"Thanks for taking care of me," Sam says when it's time for Kelv to leave.</p>
<p>"You know I love to take care of you, boo," Kelvin answers and gives him a goodbye kiss.</p>
<p>Sam's so confused. He isn't even sure what he's confused about. Maybe he's been judging Kelvin too harshly? Sam's bitter about being left in New York, but Kelvin had a good reason for that. And Kelvin had said it would be awkward if Sam left, but he hadn't threatened him outright, had he? Maybe he'd meant it would be hard for him to judge Sam's work without bias if he's heartbroken. Perhaps he'd simply meant it would be awkward, and Sam had just read too much into it. </p>
<p>It <i>would</i> be awkward to break up with Kelvin and keep going to his classes. </p>
<p>
  <i>And why should I? This was nice. Just like when he took me to his cabin. I'm no longer hoping to date Mike, so there's no reason to want to break up. Nick's made clear nothing will happen between us. Why shouldn't I get to have a secret boyfriend?</i>
</p>
<p><i>Is it so bad that i want someone to be nice to me </i>and<i> want to sleep with me?</i></p>
<p>
  <i>He didn't even get mad when I told him about Nick. I've definitely blown things out of proportion.</i>
</p><hr/>
<p>"Where are you, Gabe? You were supposed to meet me 30 minutes ago," Mike scolds through the phone.</p>
<p>"On my way. I checked in on Sam. Stayed a bit longer than I planned," Gabe answers, using his handsfree to make the call.</p>
<p>"Is he alright?" Mike asks, his tone twisting into worry. He's really heartbroken about the breakup, so Gabe hasn't told him or Nick that Kali's back. One problem at a time. Preferably someone else's problem. </p>
<p>"He's got a cold, but he's fine. Hey, didn't you tell me Sam's married lover was very jealous?"</p>
<p>"I did, yes. Why?"</p>
<p>"Good. Because he was there. I didn't want him to get jealous of me, so I managed to fool him I'm straight."</p>
<p>“Gabe. You <i>are</i> straight,” Mike points out tiredly.</p>
<p>"Yo, don't rain on my parade. I put on a masterful performance to convince him. I've never talked so much about boobs in my life. Since when have I ever cared about boobs? As long as they're at eye-level, I'm a happy camper," Gabe says and makes squeezing motions in front of his face, earning him a nasty look from a passerby.</p>
<p>Mike groans, followed by the thud of him head-desking. "Is there a point to this?"</p>
<p>"Yes. This Kelvin guy? Sam's professor. Switching phone numbers or moving Sam won't help pry him loose."</p>
<p>"Crap. Alright. We can assume Sam's grades hang in the balance. Do you think Kelvin has anything else on him?"</p>
<p>"Don't know. But I'm thinking getting the guy fired for sleeping with a student might put Sam in a bad position. Don't worry. I've got a plan."</p>
<p>Mike sucks in a breath between his teeth. "Gabe. I love you, and you know I trust you, but this plan of yours…" he says with trepidation.</p>
<p>Gabe rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue at Mike. Not that Mike can see it, but it earns him another unfriendly look from a passerby. "Micko, my man, the less you know, the less you can tell Nick, and the less risk of him fucking it up. All I need is for you to help me convince him to let me borrow his camera."</p>
<p>"I'd love to help you, Gabe," Mike says as if that isn't a transparent lie, "but you know how he is about that damn camera."</p>
<p>"In that case, don't tell him I borrowed it if he notices it's gone. I'm at your work now. <i>Bye!</i>”</p>
<p>"Gabe, wait―!" </p>
<p>Gabe hangs up before Mike has a chance to protest. It's only delaying the argument a couple of minutes, but a conflict should be avoided at any cost. The car ride to pick up Ella and Nick by the train station is short, so Mike won't have time to talk him out of it, and he won't tell Nick Gabe's planning to take his camera.</p>
<p>Mike comes out of his office a few minutes later with an apprehensive look on his face. "Okay, what's the goal of your little plan," he asks. "Nothing that will get you arrested, I hope?" he adds and opens his car door.</p>
<p>Gabe walks around and gets into the passenger seat. "You're confusing me with Nick. When have I ever been arrested?"</p>
<p>"There have been several close calls," Mike says and starts up the car.</p>
<p>"Which is why I learned how to use remote detonators," Gabe jokes and wiggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“<i>Gabe</i>.”</p>
<p>"Okay, okay. I'm going to make Kelvin break up with Sam. Nothing elaborate. Don't worry."</p>
<p>"When you say, 'don't worry', I'm going to worry, and you know it."</p>
<p>Gabe sniggers and puts his seatbelt on. "As long as Sam doesn't appear to be the instigator of the breakup, everything will sort itself out."</p>
<p>Mike shakes his head to himself and concentrates on driving. "A teacher fucking his student," he mutters. "Doesn't it piss you off?"</p>
<p>"Mikey boi. If we expose him and get him fired, we'll have to expose Sam too. Either as a rape victim, or make him a suspect of sleeping himself to good grades, or, at the very least, we'll out him. All those things will be unpleasant and have negative consequences for Sam."</p>
<p>"Sam's already out," Mike states.</p>
<p>"Yeah, because that means he wants to have his picture blasted over every newspaper along with Kelvin's. I bet Sam's dad will be overjoyed to finally find out where he is," Gabe says sarcastically.</p>
<p>"I didn't mean―. <i>Of course</i>, we won't do anything that might expose Sam. But don't you get tired of the assholes always getting away unscathed? I'm sick of it," Mike says and punches his steering wheel lightly with the palm of his hand.</p>
<p>Gabe slides down to put his knees on the dashboard. He takes a lollipop out of his pocket and offers it to Mike. "It's the way of the world, my friend." Mike throws a look at the lollipop and nods, so Gabe peels the wrapper off it and hands it over, then takes up a new one for himself. "Technically, I could make sure he doesn't get away unscathed, but then there will be a risk of being arrested. Your call."</p>
<p>"No. And don't tell Nick who Kelvin is. I don't trust him to keep his calm."</p>
<p>"Way ahead of you, big bro. Waaay ahead of you."</p>
<p>Inside his jacket pocket, Gabe's phone vibrates for an incoming call. He doesn't answer.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam hefts the shaft of the hatchet and focuses. He raises his arm, takes a deep breath, and lets it out at the same time as he lets the hatchet fly.</p>
<p>"Yeah! Bull's eye!" Steve cheers from the lane beside him. "You sure you haven't done this before?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles self-consciously and drags a hand through his hair. Steve's taken him to Hatchet Haven, an indoor ax-throwing range. Sam didn't even know those existed." Yeah. I told you, I've been mostly cooped up in libraries or at home, growing up."</p>
<p>"It's awesome, man. You're a natural." Steve throws his hatchet with two hands and almost hits the middle of the target too. But Steve's done this for years.</p>
<p>"Steve… can I talk to you about something? But you can't tell anyone. Like, no one. Ever?" Sam asks uncertainly. His thoughts have been whirling non-stop for days, and he thinks he'll go nuts if he doesn't talk to somebody. He'd even called Mike to see if they could meet up. Mike said their sister was in town, so he couldn't go, but he'd pay for the cab if Sam came over to Nick's. But Sam didn't want to talk when there were several people around. This was a sensitive business.</p>
<p>"Shoot."</p>
<p>Both of them walk down their lanes to tear their hatchets loose from the target. Sam looks through the mesh-wire divider at Steve. "I'm serious. It's secret. Friendship ending kind of secret if you should talk."</p>
<p>Steve turns to face Sam and pulls his T-shirt up to briefly display a new set of nasty bruises. "I know how to keep my mouth shut, bro. I've got your back like you've got mine."</p>
<p>Sam nods and walks back to the throwing line, Steve keeping pace. They line themselves up for another throw. Sam looks around, but this time of the day, there are barely any people here, and the closest one is too far away to overhear. "Um, okay. You know I told you Mike didn't want to have sex with me because he was falling in love with me. And he thought I would break his heart if we started going steady."</p>
<p>"Yeah, and I still think that's a load of crap. If you want to go steady, you wouldn't have a problem to stop flirting with his brother. No way I'll believe that."</p>
<p>Sam smiles at Steve's unwavering faith in him. "He said that because he knew something about me, I haven't told you."</p>
<p>Steve raises his eyebrow in question.</p>
<p>Sam focuses on the hatchet and gathers the courage to break Kelvin's confidence. He takes a deep breath, aims, and breathes out when he throws. Bull's eye. He turns to Steve, who's waiting patiently. "I, uh, I have a lover. He's married. I don't think I can break up with him, and Mike knows that."</p>
<p>"What do you mean, 'you can't break up with him'? You in love with him?" Steve asks. He looks troubled.</p>
<p>"No. I―." Sam takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. It's getting long, and he should probably get it cut. But it seems like an unnecessary expense. "I'm starting from the wrong end. Okay, so get this… Mike and I… I was thinking, it was really nice to be open about it, right? I was trying out the idea of being boyfriends in my head. Hell, I told some people at Gallup I had a boyfriend. And, and it was nice, right? I don't mind being a secret, but… but I kinda liked not having to be one."</p>
<p>"Uh-huh. I feel you. I think it's fucked up Mike's the first wanting to be with you openly. If I wasn't scared dad would kill me, I'd want the fucking bragging right too," Steve says seriously.</p>
<p>Sam lets out a surprised laugh. He shakes his head and goes to fetch his hatchet. "Come on. I'm not someone you brag about being with. I know that."</p>
<p>"Are you kidding me, bro? You were―" Steve realizes he's raising his voice, looks around, and then hurries down his lane so he can lower his voice leaning closer to Sam, hooking a hand in the mesh-fence between them. "Bro. You were hella cute when you were a scrawny nerd. Now you're a 6ft4 hunk who's book smart and nice to fucking everyone. <i>Bragging rights</i>. Why wouldn't I want to say, 'I hit that'?" </p>
<p>Sam grins and looks at his feet, rubbing a finger over the bridge of his nose. "Thanks."</p>
<p>"Don't mention it, bro. But what's that got to do with the married guy?"</p>
<p>Sam takes a deep breath and looks up again. "Right. So. When we're together, he acts like a boyfriend. He's taken me on romantic weekends, held my hand on the beach, taken care of me when I was sick, stuff like that. And I love it. But we can't be boyfriends for real, right? Since he's married. But he wants me to be faithful to him as if we were boyfriends. And I'm not allowed to call or text him."</p>
<p>“<i>Bro.</i> Dump him.”</p>
<p>"What? Why?"</p>
<p>"Look, Sam, I may have opinions on cheating. That doesn't matter. What I care about is you, and if he can contact you but you can't contact him, then that's some seriously toxic shit." When Sam frowns at him, Steve holds up his hands in surrender. "Hey, if you're in love with him, you do you. I've got your back either way. But when dad trades in for a new model, he doesn't stop driving the old until the new one is hooked, you feel me? So to me, it sounds like bullshit to control you. I'm biased as fuck, though."</p>
<p>Sam huffs. "I was going to ask if you thought I should settle for being his secret boyfriend to get all those parts I like. I mean, he's super sweet, and I feel like he really cares about me. And last time I saw him he gave me all the books I'll need now when the semester starts. For a while, I had some serious doubts about him, but now I think that I just exaggerated things, and they aren't as bad as I thought."</p>
<p>"What things?"</p>
<p>"That, that, no contact thing. And then there was this one time when I told him I was busy and couldn't see him. Then when I came home late, he was waiting for me outside because he'd missed me so much. And he went inside my room before me. I, I didn't really feel comfortable with that. But, like, we'd been dating for a while, so I guess it was his right. And then, you know when I went AWOL for a month? He'd taken me on a really romantic trip to New York. We had a honeymoon suit and everything. Went to fancy restaurants. Held hands in Central Park. Rode in one of those horse-drawn carriages. But then he got a call about his daughter being hospitalized and had to fly home. He told me he'd reimburse me for a train ticket, but I didn't have money to buy one and had to hitchhike home."</p>
<p>"Fuck sake, Sam, why didn't you call me? I woulda wired you the money whether you were good for it or not. Dad's loaded, remember?"</p>
<p>"I left my phone at home."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"I was afraid he would get mad if he saw the picture of Nick."</p>
<p>Steve's eyes widen. He drags a hand over his face, turns to slam his hatchet on the target, then turns back to face Sam, hooking both hands in the wire-mesh. "Dump him. You're dating my dad." Sam weighs from one foot to the other and looks away, uncertain of what to answer. Steve goes on. "He tryna to make you distrust your friends? Demand that you be available at all times? Argue if you go out and do fun stuff? Tryna to make you say out loud that you trust him and know how much he cares for you? Any of that ring a bell?"</p>
<p>Sam nods, that stupid ball of anxiety growing in his belly again.</p>
<p>"Dump him. I'm serious. That's some hardcore manipulative shit. Get out, get out, get out."</p>
<p>"I can't."</p>
<p>"<i>Why?</i> If you're not in love with him, there's no reason not to dump his ass."</p>
<p>Sam leans closer and looks Steve in the eye. "You can't tell anyone, okay? Nobody. Promise me."</p>
<p>"I promise. Just tell me."</p>
<p>Sam looks at his feet and lifts his hand to grab his other upper arm, almost hugging himself. "I'm afraid he'll fail me in his classes if I do."</p>
<p>Steve's silent for three seconds, then, "<i>Motherfucker!</i> Fucking hell, bro." He leans his forehead against the fence and scrapes with a foot on the woodchips on the floor. He's doesn't say anything for several beats, then he huffs a humorless laugh and looks up. "I guess we're both held hostage by assholes to get us through college, huh?" he says jokingly.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles and looks up to meet his gaze. "I guess."</p>
<p>"I don't really feel like doing this anymore," Steve says and gestures towards the hatchet. "How do you feel about not being sober?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles with a bit more humor this time. "I feel very strongly that it's incredibly tempting to not be sober right now."</p>
<p>"That's my man," Steve says with a wink. "Let's roll."</p>
<p>A bit later, they're in Steve's car on their way to his house. Steve's been talking about anything but the topic Sam had brought up earlier, but then suddenly he says, "Listen, Samster, the guy you're fucking?"</p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p>"If he's a smooth-talker like Dad, he's gonna present a convincing fucking case, so I'm gonna give you a heads up. He's gonna say that all your friends are just using you, that you can't trust them. It's pure bullshit. The people you hang with right now are cool, a'ight? Ennis, Brady, Andy, Annie, and whatsherface. They're cool. Same with Nick, Mike, and Gabe. None of us are out to fuck you over, okay? Don't stop hanging with anyone because he says so. He do anything that makes you uncomfortable, tell me. That crap you told me about waiting outside and going into your room without being invited, he ain't got right to do that. Even if you're fucking, he ain't got the right. You know that, or you wouldn't be uncomfortable when he did it." He looks away from the road long enough to meet Sam's gaze. "I ain't telling you to argue with him, but he might get you to doubt your gut feeling about things, so if he pulls shit that makes you uncomfortable, tell me, and I'll confirm your damn gut feeling for you. I don't want to see you get brainwashed like Dad's girlfriends and side-pieces, okay?"</p>
<p>"Okay."</p>
<p>"Good." Steve reaches out and pats Sam twice on the thigh, then moves on to talk about something else. But Sam's relieved. He's glad he told Steve. There's nothing either of them can do about their situations, but just hearing that what he'd felt wasn't just him overreacting takes a big load off his shoulders.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Friends are often better at spotting when a new partner or friend is toxic and influence you in bad ways. Unless they're toxic too, it's not a bad idea to listen to their outside perspective. They're not necessarily right, and even if they are, nobody is saying you <i>have</i> to break up. But if you start feeling guilty, having anxiety, fighting about things that seem irrelevant, it's a good idea to turn to friends and ask them, "Am I the asshole for...?" Good friends will tell you the truth. It's why a manipulative partner who seeks to control you, will try to make you cut ties with good friends.</p>
<p>And thanks for all the comments. :)<br/>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's starting to struggle with himself, but it doesn't stop nice things from happening.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
    
  </p>
</div><p>It's the first time Sam's come along when they moved on to the next place after a gig. When he was with Mike, they usually went home before the others. Now Sam's alone by the bar, sipping on his Long Island Ice tea, watching Steve sitting with a girl, Jane, further down the bar. Steve's been bringing his douchebag A-game all night, calling Jane an assortment of nasty things, yet she's just laughed it off and kept pawing at him, flirting. It makes Sam's skin crawl.</p>
<p>Mike and Gabe are on the dance floor. Mike's dancing with a girl who joined them after the gig. She's pretty, and when Sam talked to her, she seemed incredibly friendly and warm. Precisely the kind of woman that he thinks would be good for Mike. Sam's so torn. They'd agreed to see other people, and he wants Mike to be happy, but it still hurts.</p>
<p>Down the bar, Jane pushes Steve's thighs aside to stand between them. She wraps her arms around his neck and leans in to kiss him. Steve puts his hand under her spaghetti-strap top to cup her breast and pinches her nipple. Sam cringes and wonders if Steve, too, has a place in his mind where he goes when he's with girls, just like Sam does when he's doing stuff he doesn't want.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don't I want it? Since when did I start to care? I never used to mind.</em>
</p>
<p>It used to be so damn simple. He didn't have wants. He took pride in being a good boy. He didn't mind that it sometimes hurt as long as they were pleased with him. He <em>liked</em> pleasing.</p>
<p>Earlier today, he'd been on his knees in a dirty toilet, begging for it. He'd felt that glow of pride then—that sense of accomplishment. A while later, he'd been on his back in a cheap motel room with someone else. The guy was heavy and intent like dad when dad was drunk. After the guy left, he'd been on the verge of throwing up.</p>
<p>The strange part is that he hadn't even needed the 400 bucks it earned him. No, it had been a whimsicality—an urge to prove a point to himself. He's not sure what he was trying to prove, but currently, he's experiencing a negative after-effect, wishing that no one ever touches him again.</p>
<p>Simultaneously, he's longing to make out for hours with Mike or have a fun tumble in the hay with Steve.</p>
<p>
  <em>How can I want them at the same time as I don't want to be touched at all?</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe it comes down to what Mike showed him: The difference between dirty and pure sex. Trust. Feeling safe. Sam's feelings for Steve aren't romantic in any way, shape, or form. But they're untainted. Safe. Like earlier that week, when Steve asked, 'Do you wanna fuck?' and he'd answered that he wasn't feeling up to it. Steve replied, 'Alright. You wanna shoot some pool?' without a hint of disappointment. On their way to the pool hall, he'd changed his mind, and Steve took that in stride, happy to get off. It was fun without any pressure whatsoever.</p>
<p>Looking at Steve now... Sam can't hear what he's telling Jane, but his sneered smirk says he's derogatory, just like he'd called Sam a 'filthy fucking fag' once. The sex with Jane will be dirty.</p>
<p>When Sam blew Steve, and the first sex they had the next day, had been dirty. Everything that happened between them after that, was pure and wholesome.</p>
<p>Sam gets a sense of triumph like he's just solved the Riemann Hypothesis or some other unsolvable math problem.</p>
<p>
  <em>But that's only half the equation, isn't it?</em>
</p>
<p>Mike loves to make out for hours. He loves the sensory overload that makes you feel lips moving on you long after the kissing stopped. When it was Mike's or Brady's kisses, so did Sam. Mike got turned on, eager, but he got put off when Sam had those flashbacks.</p>
<p>
  <em>That made sex dirty to him, right? So even when it's pure, it's sullied.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I'm sullied.</em>
</p>
<p>Sam whines and moves his drink out of the way just so he can bang his forehead on the bar repeatedly. He makes an indignant squeak, heart jumping into overdrive when someone slides an arm around his waist.</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. "I see you're having a good time," he jokes and puts his drink on the bar beside Sam's, hand sliding up between Sam's shoulder blades.</p>
<p>Sam rubs his eyes tiredly and leans towards Nick's chest. '<em>Don't touch me,</em>' is on the tip of his tongue. For the briefest moment, it's dad's hand. '<em>Dean's at a sleepover tonight. Let's have a special night just to ourselves. We'll go rent a movie. You can choose any movie you like, and we'll buy candy and soda. Then you can sleep in dad's bed. Would you want that, son?</em>', '<em>Yes, dad.</em>' He <em>had</em> wanted it. The cuddling on the sofa, staying up late, the candy and the soda. It <em>was</em> special. He'd felt bad for Dean, who missed out. At the time, dad's touch and taste were perfectly normal. Enjoyable even, since those nights, dad barely drank. He misses dad. And yet, it's the memory of dad's touch that makes his skin crawl under Nick's hand. Why is that? <em>Why why why?</em></p>
<p>Sam inhales deeply. Nick smells nothing like dad. "Are breakups always this hard?" he complains.</p>
<p>"Hard? You and Mikey are doing great," Nick argues good-naturedly. Then he scrunches up his face. "You want me to go tell him to conduct his tonsil exams where you can't see?"</p>
<p>Sam leans forward to peek around Nick's shoulder towards the dance floor. Mike is indeed kissing the girl he was dancing with, cupping her cheeks gently, eyes closed, like he used to kiss Sam. Sam's mind paints the picture of how those kisses feel, and his belly swoops. He pulls back so Nick's once again blocking the view. "No. We agreed we'd see others. I'm envious, not resentful."</p>
<p>“You’re a bigger man than I. If it was my ex, I’d want to plant my fist in his face even if I was the one to dump him,” Nick sniggers. “So if you’re supposed to see other people, shouldn’t you be macking on someone too?”</p>
<p>Sam straightens up, twists to face Nick, bends his head to make his bangs fall over one eye, smirks, and narrows his eyes teasingly. “Why? Are you offering?”</p>
<p>Steve’s wrong about him. Even if he was dating someone seriously he’d be flirting with Nick. It’s a backbone reaction by now.</p>
<p>Nick grins, then sings, “<em>I can chat with you, baby. Flirt a little, maybe. Does your mother know that you’re out?</em>”</p>
<p>Sam makes a disgusted noise and rolls his eyes. “Nevermind. I should probably go home anyway.”</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, no, no.” Nick’s arm slides down to hold Sam around the waist more firmly. “I don’t want you to go. We haven’t seen enough of you lately. Stay. Tell me why you’re looking so cranky, if it isn’t for my dumbass brother.”</p>
<p>Nick’s very inebriated. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes glossy under heavy eyelids. He’s so damn beautiful. When Nick smells of alcohol it doesn’t remind Sam of dad at all.</p>
<p>Sam grabs his drink and sucks a couple of sips from the straw. “It’s, it’s nothing. I just. I feel and think too much, okay? And I can’t make sense of my feelings. I keep having diametrically opposed feelings. Like, I don’t want anyone to touch me―” the words are barely out of his mouth before Nick starts to withdraw his arm. Sam grabs him by the shirt to stop him. “No, no. Don’t. Look. As I was saying, I don’t want to be touched, but, like, I want you to touch me.”</p>
<p>Nick’s shoulders jump in silent laughter, mirth sparkling in his eyes. His arm settles back around Sam. “Why, Sam, that was the most coherent thing I’ve heard all evening. I nearly understood you there for a bit.”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles and looks at his drink, spinning the glass around. “I know. That’s what I mean. It’s like, I think I’m thinking the right thoughts. But I think I’m coming to the wrong conclusion.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. He’s been in a great mood all evening. “And what conclusion is that?”</p>
<p>“I’m sullied.”</p>
<p>Nick’s grin fades and a frown takes its place. “Now hold up for just one minute. Firstly,” he holds up a finger, “you’re not sullied. Secondly,” he holds up his thumb, index, and middle finger, “we’re all sullied. Me and my brothers, dirty, bad people have done dirty, bad things to us. But we’re still good people. Well, Gabe and Mike are, at least. I’m human garbage trying hard not to be. So in comparison to us, you’re a pristine little baby bird.”</p>
<p>Sam’s been sniggering at the three fingers Nick’s holding up, but inwardly winces at the last words. “Don’t call me that. And I’m not. Mike doesn’t want me because I make sex dirty for him. Hence, sullied.”</p>
<p>Nick purses his lips thoughtfully, but as if thinking is painfully hard. Maybe Sam isn’t the only one who’s had too much to drink. “Oookay. I’m sort of following your reasoning now. Vaguely. So why do you imagine you make sex dirty for Mike?”</p>
<p>Sam considers. He wonders if Mike’s told Nick about his flashbacks. Mike had promised not to. But Sam wants to talk. He’s tired of hiding fucking <em>everything</em>. “Okay, so get this. Mike and I never had sex.” Nick’s eyebrows raise in surprise, which means Mike must’ve kept his promise. Bolstered, Sam goes on. “We’ve made out and stuff, but.” He takes a deep breath. “You know I have a lot of memory gaps, right?”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh?” Nick answers with an encouraging nod.</p>
<p>“Yeah, so, anytime we’ve been getting serious, I’ve had, uh. I think, at least, um, that I’ve had flashbacks. I’m not even sure if the things I suddenly see are real memories. But, like, it’s a total mood-killer for Mike, and that’s why he doesn’t want me.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh. Yeah, it would be for me too. I may be trash, but anyone who’d insist on going on after you’ve triggered is a fucking landfill. You don’t see that?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? The result is the same,” he grouses and takes the straw out of his drink to be able to drink deeply.</p>
<p>Nick takes a large gulp of his own drink along with Sam, then slides between the bar and the barstool Sam’s sitting on, resting his arms around Sam’s midriff, facing Sam much like Jane’s facing Steve but without the benefit of face-sucking. Nick’s lips quirk in a tiny smile. “What kind of memories are we talking about?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs. He doesn’t want to talk about that. “I dunno. Just stuff. It doesn’t matter. Do you think I’m shallow?”</p>
<p>Nick’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He sniggers, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Are you?”</p>
<p>Sam tips forward to press his forehead against Nick’s chest. Nick wraps an arm firmly around his back, the other hand comes up to cup his head. Butterflies go rampant in Sam’s belly, nervous fizzles of the good kind tickle all over, and, <em>still</em>, that stupid, awful, crawling don’t-touch-me feeling remains. “Is it wrong for me to want to have sex with my boyfriend? Is it wrong for me to <em>want</em> a boyfriend? Is it wrong that I want to hold hands, and, and kiss in public? And tell people I’m seeing someone? Am I selfish? Is it so wrong to like romantic stuff?” he rambles into Nick’s shirt.</p>
<p>Nick’s chest rumbles from a deep chuckle. “No to all those questions, sweetheart. There’s some fine print, but, no. So you want to hold hands, huh?”</p>
<p>“I like it,” Sam mutters defensively.</p>
<p>“You’re into romantic gestures? Candlelit dinners? Dancing in the moonlight?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Sam decides. If it was one thing Kelvin had taught him, that was it.</p>
<p>Nick lowers the hand cupping Sam’s head to instead grab one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. He steps to the side pulling Sam along, forcing Sam to slide off the barstool. When Sam’s standing Nick crowds him, pulling an arm around him again. He smiles softly, mirth twinkling in his eyes again. “Then I’m sorry to inform you that you’re shooting wildly off-target anytime you flirt with me, Sammykin.” He leans their foreheads together and sways slowly. “I don’t know how to do romance for shit.”</p>
<p>“When our eyes met for the first time, Romeo and Juliet started making sense,” Sam confesses.</p>
<p>Nick barks a short laugh. “Sam, I don’t think I’ve ever been so insulted in my life. That drivel won’t ever make sense,” he grins jokingly, then leans their cheeks together, raising their joint hands to chest-level. He sways them in a slow circle and puts his lips to Sam’s ear. Then he starts singing quietly, every puff of breath causing goosebumps, eradicating the don’t-touch-me itch, leaving jittery thrills in its wake. “<em>Why do birds suddenly appear, Every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be, Close to you…</em>”</p>
<p>Sam’s heart beats rapidly in his chest, Nick’s scent fills his nostrils, belly swooping like on a rollercoaster. Nick could say what he wants, a spontaneous slow-dance feels pretty damn romantic. He places a small kiss on Nick’s neck and closes his eyes, allowing the man he’s fallen so stupidly in love with to chase away all his gloom.</p>
<p>Sam finds himself smiling broadly as Nick takes them in slow circles, singing the full song. When Nick’s finished the song he leans their foreheads together again. “I’m drunk as fuck, sweetheart. Can I walk you home?”</p>
<p>As if Sam under any circumstances could’ve said no.</p>
<p>They say their goodbyes, then, when they step outside, Nick takes Sam’s hand again with a soft-sly smile. Sam feels inexorably happy and uncharacteristically shy as they wander down the street. There are people, mostly revelers, out and about. Just like Mike, Nick doesn’t give a shit if anyone sees them holding hands. Sam’s floating. They talk. Nick laments that Sam didn’t come to visit when Ella was in town. “I’d really like you to meet her. And maybe you can come along the next time we go home to visit dad?”</p>
<p>“You want to take me home to meet the parents?” Sam asks with amusement, secretly elated. Meeting the parents is a huge thing in every book he’s ever read.</p>
<p>“I want everyone I care about to meet you,” Nick admits easily. “I also want to lock you into a room only I have access to and never let you out, but I’m trying not to focus on that,” he adds with a mischievous grin.</p>
<p>Sam laughs.</p>
<p>“It’s not funny, darling. I can barely discern right from wrong until <em>after</em> I’ve done something. I have low impulse control. That’s why I’m so dependent on Mike to tell me no,” Nick says, still grinning.</p>
<p>“Yeah? Steve and I have sort of worked out something similar. He told me to tell him if I doubted my gut feeling, and he’d confirm my misgivings for me.”</p>
<p>“That’s good. He’s a good guy. I like him. He’s got some issues, doesn’t he?”</p>
<p>“What makes you say that?”</p>
<p>“Because I like him. He reminds me of me a bit which means there’s something wrong with him. He’s firmly on my good side since he stopped me from hurting you.”</p>
<p>“I would’ve deserved it.”</p>
<p>Nick stops and tugs Sam close so they’re eye to eye. He strokes Sam’s bangs out of his face. “No, you didn’t. Breaking up with someone is not a reason for violence. And that’s one of the things I constantly have to work on. A violent temper and low impulse control make me do a lot of things I regret. I’m better at controlling myself than when I was younger. Sometimes I fuck up. Two years ago Gabe covered my house in glitter and I beat the living shit out of him. You know what that made me?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head, intensely aware of the warmth of Nick’s fingers where they brush his skin.</p>
<p>“One of ‘<em>them</em>’. The people who have hurt and abused us, growing up. It’s hard not to become like them because they taught me how to act. Arguably, Gabe deserved to get his ass kicked since he knows how I feel about glitter. But when I did argue, Mike argued that, no, he <em>deserved</em> to get to clean the glitter up.” Nick sighs and starts walking again. “And Mike’s right. Afterward, I had nightmares about my tiniest little midget brother curled to a ball, covering his head, bleeding by my hand.”</p>
<p>“Nick, he’s 5ft7,” Sam points out with an amused chuckle, slightly horrified at the same time.</p>
<p>“Like I said, tiny midget,” Nick jokes with a wink.</p>
<p>Sam laughs.</p>
<p>“I’m not all bad, though,” Nick says. “I have a protective streak a mile wide. An innate wish to be to others what no one was to me. Like Mikey. When we met he was pathetic. I swear he didn’t sleep for days for fear I would hurt him. In school, he was pushed around in the corridors. Bullies would hit his books out of his hands, destroy his stuff, dunk him in the toilets, mess with his locker. And he’d just duck his head and take it. It upset the fuck out of me. When adults addressed him, he was all ‘yuh-yuh-yuh-yessir’, scrambling to obey, terrified of doing something wrong. I remember the first time I woke up in the middle of the night to see him collect his bedding to go put it in the washer. He was crying silently, so fucking heartbroken I wanted to throw up. Can you imagine what could’ve happened if dad had put someone in his room that would mock him for peeing himself?” Nick turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Sam with a grave look.</p>
<p>Sam aches for Mikey. “It’s so hard to imagine him like that. When I think about it, I want to hug him so badly.”</p>
<p>Nick smiles lopsidedly. “When I think about it, I want to douse the world in gasoline and set it on fire. I lasted a week in school before I intervened. I ran away from Chuck’s maybe 10-15 times the first two years. But I couldn’t run from Mikey. He haunted me. I was drawn back to school to make sure he was okay. Which, to no one’s surprise, he wasn’t. Then I ended up walking him home from school to ensure nobody messed with him, and Dad would see us come in, ask if we were hungry or needed help with homework. No repercussions whatsoever for being away for days. I swear he’s a genius.”</p>
<p>“But wouldn’t it be better if he’d told you he’d worried?”</p>
<p>“No. I didn’t trust adults whatsoever. If they said, ‘Nick, no,’ I said, ‘Go fuck yourself your inbred limp-dicked fucktard.’”</p>
<p>Sam laughs out loud. “I can see why you see yourself in Steve,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Point taken. It took time, but I came to feel like Chuck’s was the one place where nothing bad was going to happen, simply because Dad didn’t use any force or coercion. I was always invited to participate in every activity, but there were no demands on me. And Mikey, once he started coming out of his shell, I discovered how much I liked him. He also has an incredibly strong moral pathos. We’ve been making each other better people ever since.” Nick stops them by an all-night food truck. “Hi. I’d like a pretzel each for me and my sweetheart,” he orders. He gives Sam a side-eyed wink, then lets go of Sam’s hand to take up his wallet.</p>
<p>Sam grins and looks at the ground, cheeks heating up.</p>
<p>Nick pays, takes the pretzels, then leans in to place a kiss on Sam’s cheek when he hands Sam a pretzel. “Here you go, honey,” he says then takes Sam’s hand again.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Sam murmurs shyly as they start walking again.</p>
<p>They stroll in silence for a while, munching on their pretzels. Nick stops to look into the window of a music shop, with a few electric guitars on display. Sam looks beyond the display into the dark shop. It’s a narrow, long store that reminds him of another shop he remembers. “Dean drove me to a library one town over, then he waited in the music shop across the street. He said he was there for a girl, but I don’t remember a girl working there. He sat in the back with a guitar when I was done. He’d been there for hours. Back then I took it at face value when he said he was there for a girl. Now I’m not so sure. He always did like making noise.”</p>
<p>“Does he sing?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I remember him whistling mostly. But Dean and I, uh, we lived very separate lives, I guess. He’s four years older than me. Sometimes Dad had to be gone for work for days, and then he’d take care of me. But when Dad was at home, Dean was often out with friends. And every summer Dean would stay with our uncle Bobby for a couple of weeks. Dean helped Bobby restore old cars, but I couldn’t because I was too tiny and too slow in the head,” Sam says and takes another bite of his pretzel.</p>
<p>“I find that hard to believe, Sammy.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I was told, and it’s true. You can ask Brady, he used to live with me.”</p>
<p>“Who told you you were too slow to fix cars? Your dad?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head. “No. If you’ve got one fault, it’s naivety. But you’re not slow. Just look at you. You got into college, and now you’re living on your own, taking care of yourself just fine.”</p>
<p>They start walking again. “Yeah, but, uh, I, bad things happen sometimes, and uh, I. I don’t always get my money through legal means,” Sam confesses with trepidation.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Bad things happen to everyone. When you hang out with people like me, the bad things are usually parents and other guardians. And fuck the law. We’re talking about surviving. You’ve hitchhiked across the US twice. You’re feeding yourself and keeping a roof over your head. You’ve created a social safety net for yourself. You network. You don’t do drugs. I don’t doubt you’ve done shit you wish you hadn’t in the name of survival, but you’ve been successful. I’m not exactly an innocent lamb either. I’m lucky because I’ve managed to avoid arrest, but I’ve done everything from burglaries to armed robbery. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I’m alive today because of it.”</p>
<p>“Armed robbery?”</p>
<p>“Don’t do drugs. Drugs will fuck you up. That’s all I’m saying.”</p>
<p>“I’d still like to try to smoke weed once, after I’m twenty-five and it’s mostly harmless,” Sam pouts.</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. “If you have the opportunity, smoke with Mike. He’s adorable when he’s stoned.”</p>
<p>“Mike smokes weed?”</p>
<p>Nick grins. “Very rarely, but it happens. I’d like to ask you not to do it around me, though. Weed isn’t a big problem for me in itself, but my bad impulse control is lowered further by it, so I don’t want to risk it.”</p>
<p>“I won’t,” Sam promises.</p>
<p>They finish their pretzels and keep talking, flitting from subject to subject. It’s nice and easy and nerve-wracking and exhilarating. At one point Nick pulls Sam behind himself, putting himself between Sam and a hostile-looking passerby, glaring warningly at him. Then it’s back to strolling hand in hand.</p>
<p>Nick walks Sam all the way to his door. Sam unlocks, opens the door, and turns to Nick. “You can come in if you like.”</p>
<p>Nick smirks, his eyelids are heavy. “I want to, but I’m not going to. Because if I come inside right now I’m gonna end up railing you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week.”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind,” Sam purrs.</p>
<p>“I bet you don’t.” Nick steps closer and leans a shoulder on the doorframe. He scrunches his face up and tilts his head. “Is that all you want from me, Sam? Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am? Because if that’s it, I could do that. Fuck age difference. If that’s all, I can come in and fuck you seven ways to Sunday. But then it won’t last. I <em>like</em> you, Sam. You give me fucking butterflies. So be honest with me. Are you hoping for something more than a few rolls in the hay with me? Or are you just looking to get your rocks off?”</p>
<p>Sam feels like jumping up and down in sheer joy.</p>
<p>
  <em>Nick <b>likes</b> me!</em>
</p>
<p>“I want more. I want us to be boyfriends,” Sam confesses, mouth dry from quivering nerves.</p>
<p>Nick’s face relaxes into a content smile. “Then I won’t come in now. If I do, you’d get your Romeo and Juliet. We’d be dead in a week. Metaphorically. I’ve got a shitload of issues, and so do you, whether you admit it or not.” He reaches out and gently hooks a hand around Sam’s neck, caressing back and forth with his thumb, lighting sparklers that flare in every cell of Sam’s body. “It’s not a bad thing. I never work with people that aren’t broken. You need to have issues to put up with all my bullshit. But I want us to get to know each other well before I even consider taking the plunge with you. See how our issues fit together and what needs to be fixed first. And you’ve barely told me anything about you yet.”</p>
<p>“Nothing needs to be fixed,” Sam argues but without any heat because <em>Nick likes him!</em></p>
<p>Nick pushes himself away from the doorpost to cup Sam’s cheeks and lean closer with an amused smile. “Sam, sweetheart, you’re not even above the age of consent yet.”</p>
<p>“I’m―”</p>
<p>Nick quickly shifts to press a finger against Sam’s lips. “<em>Sssh.</em> You already told us that. Major event during your birth year? The Columbine shooting, remember?”</p>
<p>“Oh, shit.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers and cups Sam’s face again. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not gonna rat you out. But you’ll let me pretend that I give a flying fuck about consent laws. And you’ll keep driving me crazy by screwing anyone you feel like, while I’ll keep having my one-night-stands. And you’ll come back to hang with us because I fucking need you close. I <em>need</em> you close, Sam. It’s like a suction right here,” he presses his fingers below the sternum. “And we’ll get to know each other really well. Maybe you’ll realize what a total disaster I am and lose interest.”</p>
<p>“Never.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you will, hopefully, you won’t. It doesn’t matter. You’ll keep being a teasing little shit, driving me insane, and I’ll pretend that you don’t. Then there’ll be slip-ups like tonight, when I’m drunk and sappy, and I’m going to admit that you’ve got me all messed up. Tomorrow I’ll deny ever having said any of these things, pretending I was far too drunk to remember this. We’ll both know it’s a lie but I’ll hold onto that lie with my dying breath. Then, in the future, when we’ve figured ourselves out, and if you’re still interested, I’m going to rail you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week. How does that sound?”</p>
<p>Sam hiccups a small giggle. “Sounds like a plan.”</p>
<p>“Good. Then I’m gonna give you a chaste goodbye-kiss and go home, because the whole railing bit sounds more tempting by the minute and I don’t want to fuck this up,” he jokes and combs Sam’s hair back with one hand.</p>
<p>Sam grins at him, full of fizzy bubbles. “Okay…”</p>
<p>Nick wets his lips and leans in.</p>
<p>It’s just a soft press of slightly parted lips but it sets off more fireworks than the fourth of July. Sam’s brain misfires. Every nerve tingles and tickles. His belly swoops over and over. He’s floating, spinning, falling, burning. It’s an instant balm over every damned insecurity Sam’s ever had.</p>
<p>It ends far too soon.</p>
<p>Nick pulls away and leans their foreheads together. “<em>Fuuhh―</em>,” he hisses and lets his hands glide to Sam’s shoulders. He gives Sam one more kiss, slightly briefer, and steps away with a smile. “I’m gonna go now. Sweet dreams, beautiful little baby bird.”</p>
<p>“I’m not Little Bird,” Sam answers without thinking, smiling dopily as Nick retreats, walking backwards.</p>
<p>“You’re <em>my</em> little bird,” Nick counters with a teasing grin and a wink. He turns around and strides across the parking lot on alcohol-unsteady legs, lifting his hand to hail down one of the cabs passing on the street. He’s in luck. A cab pulls in to the curb to wait for him. When he’s gotten into the car and is about to close the door he looks back at Sam. Sam blows him a kiss. Nick’s hand shoots out to mimic catching it, pulling it towards his chest with a smile. Then he closes the door and the cab drives off.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so, you had to wait for this one because I couldn't make the Little Bird segment fit. But since I know what lies ahead I realized that it works with the plot, since Sam's the writer of Little Bird and he's starting to struggle with a writing block. We'll come back to Little Bird's adventures in due time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick decides it's time to call out Sam on their suspicions about his past. It doesn't go so well.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warnings:</b><br/>-Panic attack<br/>-This chapter comes with vague flashbacks of a childhood full of child abuse. It hints both at sexual and physical abuse of children and it might be triggering to those who experienced similar things. The descriptions aren't graphical and I <i>want</i> you to feel uncomfortable reading them. But if you have PTSD from child abuse (not necessarily sexual) then you might have to brace before reading this chapter.<br/>-Mocking thoughts about stutterers.<br/>-OOC Dean, just like the rest of them. ^^'</p><p>Nick changed the lyrics to the song they play a little bit. <a href="https://youtu.be/-WV9LQD1SjU">This is the original version.</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</div><p>They're in the back office they use as a lounge before the gig. "Are you sure it's a good idea to play the song tonight?" Mike asks and touches up his makeup for the fifth time since they got here. He's nervous. For valid reasons. They're planning to open Pandora's box, and there's no telling how the dimpled little shit will react. Nick's gagging to find out. If they're wrong, he might throw caution overboard and just go for it. He keeps thinking of how well Sam fit against him when they danced. How it felt kissing him. How fucking <em>good</em> he smells.</p><p>"Yes. We only have a few more shows here before this gig ends, and next week Sam starts school again. Better now than never." Nick thinks that maybe if it's only one rape or two and some prostitution they have to deal with, perhaps he can work it out without holding back.</p><p>Okay, so maybe all evidence points at Sam being just as much of a tricky case as Nick and his brothers. But Sam wants a boyfriend, and Nick really, <em>really</em> wants to give Sam a boyfriend. A human dumpster fire of a boyfriend, but it's not like Sam will know the difference.</p><p>'<em>Which is exactly why you need to hold back</em>,' says the annoying Mikey-voice in his head.</p><p>"Yes, yes. I know. That's why we have to do it now. I need to <em>know,</em>" he says with an annoyed, dismissive hand gesture at his older brother.</p><p>Mike lowers his kohl pencil and hand-mirror to frown at him. "I didn't say anything."</p><p>Sam wants romance. Nick knows jack shit about romance. Mike's personality could make an ordinary breakfast seem romantic, but he wasn't any more romantic than Nick. No, that was Gabe's department. He put as much effort into his dates as he did his pranks. Gabe was definitely the best bet for classic romance if you discounted the eyebrow wiggling and cheesy jokes.</p><p>
  <em>Pretzels are romantic, right? That's what they buy in romantic movies.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, he blushed when I handed it over. I'm so screwed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What else can I do that's romantic? I know, a picnic! I know how to do that. It's basically the same as being homeless anyway. Bring a blanket, champagne, hand-feed each other fruits and whatever.</em>
</p><p>He's not sure he understands the point of hand-feeding if he's not allowed to suck Sam's fingers clean like a pornstar. It doesn't matter, as long as Sam digs it.</p><p>Mike snaps his fingers under Nick's nose, startling him. "What?" Nick asks.</p><p>"I <em>said</em>, did you fall off the wagon? Are you using anything? Speed, perhaps?"</p><p>"What? <em>No.</em> What the hell gave you that idea?" Nick scowls.</p><p>"Because you've been jacked up for days, bouncing around like a damn Energizer bunny. And you keep spacing out and forgetting things."</p><p>Nick frowns and averts his gaze. "I'm not doing drugs, Mike. I… I kissed him." It's Azazel all over again. Sam's the first thing on his mind in the morning and the last thought before he falls asleep.</p><p>"You kissed Sam?" Mike asks, eyebrows raising incredulously, gaze accusing.</p><p>Gabe's sitting on the loveseat with his legs outstretched over the second seat, texting. He's been texting all day. Nick and Mike think he's texting Lilly, the girl he hooked up with the night Nick walked Sam home. It's hard to know, because while Gabe's a regular chatterbox at times, he doesn't actually share much about himself. Now Gabe looks up from his phone to give Nick a sharp look.</p><p>Nick holds up his hands, palms out. "Now, now, hold up. It was perfectly chaste. Nothing happened."</p><p>"Nothing happened, huh?" Gabe says skeptically.</p><p>"No." Nick focuses on Mike. "You'd be proud of me. That adulting award you were talking about? I earned it."</p><p>"What happened?" Mike probes patiently.</p><p>"Sam was sulking by the bar, so I went to chat with him. He complained about wanting romance and a boyfriend who isn't closeted. So, I slow-danced with him and then walked him home. We held hands, talked, I bought him a pretzel," Nick pauses to scrunch up his nose in question. "Pretzels are romantic, right?"</p><p>"<em>Nick</em>," Mike warns impatiently.</p><p>"Nothing happened, Mike. I walked him to his door. He invited me in. I asked him if he was serious about me or just wanted to fool around. If it was the latter, I'd come in and fuck him silly to get it out of my system―"</p><p>Gabe scoffs. "Even if you dislike somebody, you don't get them out of your system until you've got something to replace them with. That's why you've got a restraining order," he points out.</p><p>"Hey, everybody needs a hobby," Nick defends.</p><p>"Yeah, like <em>music</em>. Not stalking," Gabe counters, uncharacteristically argumentative.</p><p>Again, Nick holds up his hands in defeat. "Fine. You're right. I was very drunk, and it seemed reasonable at the time." It's a problem. When he's drunk, everything seems reasonable. "Bottom line is, I asked him if he was serious about me, he said yes, and I told him that in that case, I wanted to get to know him very well before we even thought about starting anything. I told him we both have issues and I wanted us to work on those first, pointed out that we knew his real age, and said that until we've sorted things out, we'd go on as usual, him fucking anyone he likes, and me hooking up with others, but hang out as friends." He hadn't phrased it exactly like that, but hopefully, Sam understood him.</p><p>"And the kiss?" Mike doesn't look quite as upset anymore.</p><p>"I gave him a chaste kiss goodnight and took a cab home. I did right for once."</p><p>Mike sits down heavily on the loveseat so Gabe has to jerk his legs away not to be landed on. "By the sound of it, you might have done better than me."</p><p>"I was good! I was forthright. I was honest. A real adult, for a change," Nick says with all the conviction he can muster.</p><p>Gabe pockets his phone and twists to sit normally, putting his feet on the floor. He leans forward to pin Nick with a stern gaze. “Nicholas,” he says gravely. It jars both Nick and Mike to give him their undivided attention. “I think I need to remind you of something. Sam Winchester, is a seventeen-year-old prostitute.”</p><p>Hearing it spelled out like that is like getting a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over his head. Nick cringes. He can see Mike wince. Mike is plagued by shame for having had a physical relationship with Sam, guilted even further for how much he misses it. It’s pure bullshit. Nick doesn’t <em>want</em> his brother to date <em>his</em> baby bird, but Sam and Mike were good for each other as a couple. And let’s face it, they wouldn’t even know half of Sam’s problems if it wasn’t for Mike’s brief romance with him.</p><p>Gabe’s still pinning Nick with his stare, waiting for Nick to align his rebellious brain cells and come to the conclusion that even if their theory is wrong, Nick would still become one of ‘them’ if he took the plunge with Sam anytime soon.</p><p>
  <em>No, no. It’s perfect. I can shape him. Make him imprint on me as he did on Mikey. Then he won’t ever leave me. </em>
</p><p>The thought makes his stomach drop in self-disgust.</p><p>Nick’s shoulders drop in defeat. “I know. We’re still playing the song, though.”</p><p>“Forget the song, Nick. I’ve said it before, we don’t want to make a public spectacle of it,” Gabe says.</p><p>“We’re not mentioning his name. And what crawled up your ass? Lilly isn’t another Kali, is she?” Nick goes on the defense.</p><p>Gabe gets up from the couch with a glare. “No. Suck a sock, dickwad. I’m outta here,” he answers testily and goes to the door. He opens it, looks outside, and grins. “<em>Yooo!</em> Steve-o, Samsquatch, Bradster, and the beautiful ~<em>ladiiiiies</em>~!” he calls out and closes the door behind him as he leaves.</p><p>Nick and Mike are left staring at each other.</p><p>“Do you think he’s right?” Mike asks uncertainly.</p><p>“No. We’re playing the song. It gives us an in for discussion and tells him we know what happened to him,” Nick states with dead-certainty. “Now, come on. Let’s go out and greet the gang.”</p><hr/><p>As usual, Sam’s standing close to the scene to have a good view. The guys have been slaying it tonight. They’d played several songs Sam hadn’t heard before, and as always, Sam’s sucked into the electric vibe of the performance. He wishes he’d taken the invite to come along to their latest jam session. He hadn’t, but he’d had lunch with Mike instead. It was a bit more awkward than it used to be, with a few hitches where they nearly fell into established behavior, having to avert motions to touch each other. Yesterday, Mike had helped Sam drive his stuff to the dorms, and in the car, Sam had put his hand on Mike’s thigh without conscious thought. Mike didn’t say anything. Hell, Mike’s reaction was to cover Sam’s hand with his own for a full minute before moving it back to the steering wheel. It took several more minutes for Sam’s brain to catch up and pull his hand back. ‘<em>Shit. Mike, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing.</em>’ Mike answered, ‘<em>I love you, Sam. I want that love to be platonic, but I’m not made of ice.’</em></p><p>Sam gets it. He’s not the only one struggling to go back to being just friends. But it feels good, like they’ll get there. They text and talk on the phone again.</p><p>Sam’s even talked on the phone with Nick twice since the night Nick walked him home and made him feel like a heroine in some romantic period drama. Nick’s harder to talk to than Mike. Sam’s too nervous. When Sam got flirty, Nick said, ‘<em>It’s called jailbait because it would send me to jail. And then what’s the use?</em>’ Sam looked it up, and should his real age be revealed, Nick would face 3 years in prison and have to register as a sex offender. It’s not fair. But anytime Sam considers why there’s a law like that, his skin crawls and his mind shies away, not wanting to deal with it.</p><p>Tonight, Nick’s his usual flirty self on stage, locking gaze with Sam to sing to him, winking, rolling his hips meaningfully. Sam’s swooning, full of fizzles and jitters.</p><p>“Alright, folks,” Nick says into the mic when they’ve finished ‘Nobody’s Wife’ by Anouk. Nick usually has the lead on it but this time it was Mike, and, honestly, Mike does it better. When Mike sings it becomes a song of longing for twosomeness, but Nick makes it into defiance. “It’s almost time for a short break. We have one last song before you can go take a whizz or whatever. But this one, by Motörhead, is special. It hits too close to home for me, and for other people, I care about. It’s a song I wish there were no inspiration for, but sadly, it’s based on the reality for too many kids in this godforsaken world. And I want you to give me a moment of silence before I start because, like I said, this hits too close to home for me, personally.” He sweeps his gaze over the audience, seeking eye contact, but avoiding Sam’s gaze. A serious hush falls over the crowd. Sam’s abuzz with curiosity.</p><p>Nick shares a look with his brothers, then bends his neck and closes his eyes. He starts to sing without any instrumental backup.</p><p>“<em>Little bird sleeping in dreams of peace<br/>Mommy’s been gone a long time<br/>Daddy comes home and he still sleeps<br/>Waiting for the world’s worst crime…</em>”</p><p>When Nick sings ‘little bird’, Sam gets a sense of trepidation.</p><p>“<em>And he comes up the stairs like he always does,</em>”<br/>Now Mike comes in with a gentle guitar backup. The song is soft and sad. Sam doesn’t want to hear anymore but finds himself unable to move.<br/>“<em>And he never turns on the light<br/>And he's wide awake, scared to death<br/>He smells his lust and he smells his sweat<br/>Curled in a ball he holds his breath<br/>Praying to a God that he's never met…</em>”</p><p>Nick and Mike both pause, making a pregnant silence hang for several seconds before they release the tension, Mike singing a mellow backup vocal.</p><p>“<em>...Don't let Daddy kiss me, don't let Daddy kiss me,<br/>Goodnight…</em>”</p><p>Sam’s heart jackhammers. Nick finally looks up at the audience and starts playing along with his bass as the song gains a little more intensity. His expression isn’t any of his usual ones. He almost looks afraid.</p><p>“<em>Little bird lies by his Daddy's side<br/>And he listens to him breathe<br/>He knows there's something awful wrong<br/>That he's far too young to see<br/>And he knows he can't tell anyone<br/>He's too full of guilt and shame<br/>And if he tells he'll be all alone<br/>They'd steal his Daddy and they'd steal his home.</em>”</p><p>Sam forgets how to breathe. ‘Daddy loves you more than anything. But Daddy can’t love a traitor who can’t keep secrets. You don’t want Daddy to stop loving you, do you?’ No. He didn’t want that. ‘That’s my special little boy. I’d be so sad. I’d have to give you over to the CPS and the police. Those are mean, <em>mean</em> people. And you’d never get to see Daddy or Dean ever again. Hush, baby boy. Don’t cry. As long as you don’t reveal our secret you can stay with Daddy and Dean forever.’ The walls back in that house were a minty green, yellowed by the former occupants smoking. They’d rented the house fully furnished. Dad’s bedroom had a giant painting of a clown that came with the house. The clown was always staring at Sam with its terrifying grin. Sam’s had nightmares of clowns ever since.</p><p>“<em>And it's not so bad when Daddy leaves him alone<br/>Praying to his God with his heart of stone…</em>”</p><p>He didn’t like music. He wanted to be able to hear well at all times. To hear if Dad wanted him to be special. To brace for it. Sometimes, he couldn’t. Sometimes he was asleep already and Dad would wake him up. It would never happen when they lived in places where he shared a room with Dean. Dean couldn’t know. Dean would be jealous and hurt, because Dad didn’t… didn’t...<br/>Gabe adds his voice to the chorus this time. “<em>Don't let Daddy kiss me, don't let Daddy kiss me, Goodnight.</em>”</p><p>After the chorus, there’s a pause, then Gabe comes in with the drums. The song gets louder, rockier. All three of them sing, “<em>Why, tell me why, The worst crime, in the world!</em>” It’s followed by a guitar solo by Mike. Mike and Gabe are looking at Sam while Nick hasn’t looked at Sam once. They know. Somehow, they know. Sam’s never told anyone. <em>HOW THE HELL DO THEY KNOW?!</em></p><p>“<em>And so Daddy lies by his little bird's side<br/>And he sleeps deep and well<br/>No nightmares come to him tonight<br/>Though his little bird lives in hell</em>”</p><p>Sam’s cold all over, pinpricks in arms and legs, sweat dotting his forehead. He didn’t like music, because music made him feel things, brought out emotions that scared him half to death. Silence was better. Then he could hear Dean make noise. If Dean was around to make noise, nothing bad could happen. And when bad things happened, they happened to Dean. Sam doesn’t remember that, yet he can hear Dad yelling at Dean for failing. For failing what? He’s not sure. He’s never sure. When Dad gets like this Sam retreats so far into himself he can barely hear. He forgets what he’s told. Forgets everything. He asks Dean where the bruises come from and Dean stares at him like he’s dumb before smirking, telling him he got into a fight at school. Sam hugs him and bravely asks him if Sam should tell the mean boys not to hit Dean. Dean sniggers and declines.</p><p>Instead, they sit down on Sam’s bed and Dean reads comic books to him. The door opens and Dad stands in the doorway. Dean quiets down, tenses up as if he’s afraid, and Sam tells Dad some boys at school were mean to Dean. Dad snorts and says he’ll teach Dean to fight like a man, then leaves. Dean says, ‘You’re dumb as a nut, but I love you.’ Kisses him on the crown of his head, hangs an arm around his shoulder, and keeps reading about Donald Duck’s adventures. Dean doesn’t love him the same way Dad does, but it makes Sam’s chest glow. Sam can’t sleep that night because Dad isn’t happy. Dad’s angry―has been, all day. Dean’s quiet and sneaks around with hunched shoulders, afraid. Sam needs to fix it. He knows what to do, and slips out of bed.</p><p>Sam doesn’t remember any of this, yet he sees it in HD clarity playing in his head, while Mike and Gabe keep their eyes on him from the stage.</p><p>“<em>For his seed is sown where it should not be<br/>But the beast in his mind don't care<br/>And the only sound are tears that fell<br/>Little bird turns his face to the wall</em>”</p><p>Sam’s fear of clowns was hilarious to Dean. He used to jump out from behind corners wearing a clown mask, hide clown toys where Sam would find them, then laugh when Sam screamed. He’d asked why Sam was afraid of clowns, and once, Sam tried to explain it. He’d told Dean about the clown painting, and how in his dreams, the clown would come out of the painting and love him the most, only it didn’t feel like love. Dean hadn’t understood and Sam couldn’t explain any clearer without breaking his promise to Dad.</p><p>In the beginning, Sam hadn’t understood how the things Dad did was love. He’d even cried a couple of times. But as the years wore on, he <em>did</em> understand. He misses Dad something fierce. Dad would do all these fun things that Sam loved. Like the winter up in Minnesota when he’d built an igloo in the yard, and the three of them had hot cocoa inside of it while dad told them funny stories from his time in the military. They’d sledded down the hill behind the house together on a big tarp. Once inside the house, Dad made scones for them. In Arizona, they’d lived close to a lake where Dad took them to swim, playing with them in the water. And Sam loved sitting cooped up under Dad’s arm while he read to Sam. He loved to sit outside watching Dad teach Dean how to fix cars. Dad would ruffle Dean’s hair and look proud. He’d give Sam the same proud look when Sam came home with perfect grades. They’d go for ice-cream, maybe buy a special toy Sam or Dean wanted. So many wonderful things.</p><p>And yet, right now he can hear the echo of Dad’s heavy breathing, the ghost of his touch, and it makes his skin crawl like it never did before. No, in the beginning, it did. But then he understood it as love, and it stopped. Now his world is crumbling. Truths, hard facts he’s known his whole life, crumbling to dust, leaving him floundering. It had started with Michael. Snippets of forgotten past flashing before his eyes at the most inopportune moments. Now it’s coming full force.</p><p>He can’t breathe. Can’t move. Feels like throwing up.</p><p>“<em>He knows that no-one hears his call<br/>But it seems that God hears nothing at all<br/>Don't let Daddy kiss me, don't let Daddy kiss me…</em>”<br/>The music fades away. Nick looks Sam straight in the eyes and whispers the last word, “<em>Goodnight…</em>”</p><p>Finally, Sam finds muscle control. He has to get away. Flee. He can’t be here.</p><p>
  <em>They know they know they know!</em>
</p><p>He pushes himself through the crowd, panic clawing in his chest. Without thought, he aims for the back. There’s a door there to where the brothers unload their equipment before the gig. There are never any people outback. Sam pushes the door open, dodges the waitress just exiting, and hurries down the tiled corridor, ignoring the doors to the kitchen and storage room to push the exit door open.</p><p>His head’s spinning. He can’t get the ghost touches to stop. Bombarded with unwanted images, memories of sights, and smells. It’s too much. He sucks in deep breaths that seem to lack oxygen and look around for somewhere to hide. He just needs to curl into a ball where no one can find him until the world stops spinning around him.</p><p>He’s in a loading zone where the houses create a yard on three sides, opening up to the busy street. In a small town, the street would be deserted this late. But not here in the big city. Here, the people and cars are as much a wall to Sam as the literal walls surrounding him. Pub Anchor, Jesse's Steakhouse, and the clothing store next door all take in their wares here. At this hour, it works as a parking lot, but there are only two cars parked. They don’t exactly offer a hiding place.</p><p>The door opens behind him. “Sam!”</p><p>It’s Nick.</p><p>Sam turns to face him, backing away. Nick’s worried, earnest, holds his hands out toward Sam. “Stay away from me! Don’t touch me!” Sam warns and looks around for an escape.</p><p>“Sam, calm down. Don’t run off. I’m on your side.”</p><p>“I can’t― I can’t― I can’t, right now. I can’t breathe. Go away,” Sam begs, holding up his hands to ward Nick off.</p><p>Nick takes two strides forward and grabs his wrists, pulling him in, wrapping his arms around him. “Ssssh. It’s okay. Nothing bad’s going to happen. You’re safe. You’re safe with me. I’ve got you.”</p><p>No. He isn’t safe. The thing that’s happening happens inside of him, in his head. He can’t breathe, can barely feel his hands. He’s going to throw up. He pushes weakly on Nick’s belly, trying to get loose, but Nick holds tight. The door behind Nick opens and Sam’s vaguely aware Mike and Gabe come out. “Let go of me. Let me go. I don’t―”</p><p>“<em>Nick,</em>” Mike says apprehensively.</p><p>Nick moves to cup the back of Sam’s head, forcing Sam to angle his head up to meet his warm and understanding gaze. “I know what you’re going through, Sammy. I want to help you. I’m here for you.”</p><p>“Nick, I don't think that's the best way to deal with his panic attack,” Mike says carefully.</p><p>A large moving truck stops on the street, boxing the area in further. There’s the sound of a car door opening.</p><p>Sam’s heart is trying to beat itself out of its rib cage. He tries to pull himself free, but Nick holds onto one of his wrists, tugging him back to cup his neck. “Nick, please, don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t―”</p><p>“<em><b>GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BROTHER, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!</b></em>”</p><p>
  <em>Dean!</em>
</p><p>The world stops.</p><p>All four of them turn to look at the man that comes striding from the street with a war-ready swagger and fury in his eyes.</p><p>Dean. Sam’s hero. Who Sam thought he’d never get to see again.</p><p>Sam barely dares trust his eyes.</p><p>“Hey, now, I’m just trying to have a conversation with him,” Nick defends and lets go of Sam’s neck to tug him behind Nick’s back while he turns to face the oncoming threat.</p><p>“The hell you are! I saw you bad-touching him. Now let him go, you disgusting piece of trash, or I will fucking kill you!”</p><p>
  <em>Oh no! Nononono!</em>
</p><p>Nick does let go, but takes a step towards Dean, pissed off now. “Oh, <em>I’m</em> bad-touching, am I? Where the fuck were you when your dad molested Sam? Where were you when―”</p><p>Everything happens so fast.</p><p>There’s a ‘<em>tzing</em>’-sound, something glints in Dean’s hand, Nick sinks into a fighting stance grabbing a switchblade from his back pocket, Mike and Gabe start moving.</p><p>Sam’s frozen, but then Mike’s between Nick and Dean, holding out his hands placatingly, and Gabe’s grabbing Nick with both hands around his arm, pulling him back.</p><p>Mike’s trying to say something to Dean, but Dean’s re-shifting his focus to Mike, eyes intent, knife-wielding arm moving.</p><p>“Dean, <em>NO</em>! He’s my friend!” Sam calls out in panic, throwing himself between Mike and Dean.</p><p>“Sam, get in the truck,” Dean orders, but stops his advancement.</p><p>“Don’t hurt them. They’re my friends,” Sam begs.</p><p>“<em>Get in the damn truck!</em>”</p><p>Afraid of what will happen if he disobeys, Sam hurries to follow the order. Dean falls in line with him, walking backward to keep his eyes on Mike and Nick. Sam can hear Mike stutter something and Nick shouting, but he’s far too shook up to make sense of what’s said.</p><p>Dean gives him a shove towards the passenger side door of the moving truck and Sam opens the door to climb in. When he closes the door and looks out he can see Mike and Gabe restraining Nick who’s struggling to get loose to follow Sam.</p><p>Dean gets in on the other side and drives off.</p><p>Sam’s so rattled his hands are shaking. He stares wide-eyed at Dean’s hard face glaring at the street, his brother’s hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.</p><p>Dean looks just like he did before Sam left. A little older, a little more tanned, but the same haircut, clean-shaven face, long eyelashes, and freckles. He’s just as beautiful as he always was. Only, furious, and Sam’s terrified. Dean keeps throwing looks at him, jaw muscles ticking.</p><p>It takes several minutes before Dean speaks. “Sammy, <em>what the hell?</em> Where the fuck have you been? I thought you were dead, man! I’ve been scared shitless. Last trace of you was at a fucking Gas-N-Sip in Kentucky! Someone saw you get into a car with a strange man, then you were fucking <em>gone</em>. I expected you to be found dead in a ditch or worse!” Sam flinches when Dean hits the steering wheel.</p><p>Dean throws him a look as if he expects Sam to speak. Sam couldn’t get a word out if he wanted. His mouth’s so dry his tongue’s glued to the roof of his mouth. His heart’s jackhammering so hard it hurts.</p><p>Dean has a scar over his right eyebrow. Sam didn’t remember it until now, but when Dean drove him to that library across the music store, that had been a fresh gash held together with surgical tape, surrounded by a big bruise that went all the way down to his cheekbone. Sam’s mind had simply air-brushed it out of his memory.</p><p>“We’ve been so fucking worried, Sammy. Dad was livid when you disappeared. We’re going straight home. And, <em>what the fuck?</em> The fuck have you been telling people?! You can’t just make up stuff like that. You don’t tell people you’ve been molested, Sam! If someone believes your lies, Dad could go to prison!”</p><p>“I never told anyone, Dean! They figured it out themselves!”</p><p>Dean’s frown deepens. “The fuck does that mean?!”</p><p>They stop at a red light. Dean’s staring ahead, lips compressed to a thin, angry line. Those jaws ticking, working furiously.</p><p>
  <em>He’s taking me back to Dad.</em>
</p><p>There’s not enough air.</p><p>
  <em>No. Never. I can’t. <b>I can’t!</b></em>
</p><p>Sam tears the door open and takes off running just as the traffic light switches to yellow.</p><p>“Sammy?! <em>SAM!</em>” Dean yells. A car honks, then Sam turns the corner and disappears from view.</p><hr/><p>Dean’s mind has played a litany of ‘<em>fuck fuck fuck fuck</em>’ for the last hour. He’s finally given up on trying to find Sam by car, and gone to park the truck at Henderson’s Moving Co. Switched to his own car and is driving back to where he found Sam. Sam called the assholes he was with friends. It didn’t fucking look like it. The blond guy was hugging Sam, bending his head up, and Sam tried to pull free, looking fucking terrified.</p><p>But that’s the best lead Dean has.</p><p>So. Back to the scene of the crime.</p><p>When Sam disappeared, Dean and Dad searched everywhere without finding a trace of Sam. Dean had combed the area around where they lived, their school, the nearby shops. Their only lead came three months after the disappearance. Someone saw Sam by a bus stop the morning of Sam’s disappearance.</p><p>When Dad heard it, he’d packed up and moved, telling Dean Sam could be anywhere. Business as usual, pinballing between states. Dean was upset, because what if Sam came back and couldn’t find them? Dad insisted, and it was lucky he did. They’d kept looking. While Dad worked, Dean drove around asking people, showing a picture of Sam. Two states away from where Sam disappeared, Dean got his second lead. Sam had gotten into a car with a man. The Gas-N-Sip cashier remembered it because the man had been groping Sam’s ass when they walked to the car, and the cashier had considered calling the police. But there had been a sudden influx of customers, so he didn’t.</p><p>Since then, Dean had been looking, leaving Dad behind to follow the road Sam was last seen on. Taking odd jobs to stay afloat, using credit card scams to pay for motels just like Dad had taught him. Randomly changing direction when he came to splits in the road. He’s been all over the US, more and more convinced Sam was dead.</p><p>These last couple of months he’d all but given up, still choosing towns and cities at random, <em>needing</em> to keep looking or he’d break entirely.</p><p>He nearly didn’t recognize Sam when he saw him. His scrawny-ass little brother had grown 12ft and had hair much longer than before. But, he was alive. <em>ALIVE</em>.</p><p>He briefly considers calling Dad and reporting the sighting.</p><p>He decides against it. Dad will just get mad that Dean lost him again.</p><p>Dean parks his car in the parking lot where he’d seen Sam and heads for the door where hot-guy and shorty had been standing.</p><p>They were far too old to be Sam’s friends. The fuck would Sam hang out with guys that age?</p><p>It doesn’t matter. If they are his so-called friends, they might be able to tell Dean where he can find Sam.</p><p>Which means he’ll have to smooth down some ruffled feathers first.</p><p>He opens the door and hears the sound of revelry coming from the end of the corridor, and kitchen-like sounds coming from a side door. He heads for the revelry. He steps through the door at the end of the corridor. It’s a big pub, with a stage here at the back, booths to sit along the walls, tables, and a bar over at the other end of the locale, over by the entrance. He scans the crowd. It doesn’t take long for him to locate shorty and the blond asshole. They sit by a table with a large group of people, both of them intent on their phones with frowns on their faces.</p><p>It takes a bit longer to locate hot-guy. He’s over by the entrance, giving a girl a hug and a quick kiss goodbye, then heads for the bar.</p><p>It’s never ideal to approach a big group of people if it can be avoided. They tend to band together and you have to win the key players over or everyone will turn on you. He could do that, but considering he’d already threatened to kill blond-asshole, hot-guy is his safest bet.</p><p>He heads for the bar and slides up on a barstool next to hot-guy. Damn bastard looks like a fucking model. Black hair in messy waves, chiseled body, chin dimple, sympathetic smile for the bartender. Yeah, totally hot. Not that Dean’s ever grazed that side of the pasture (on purpose), but he isn’t blind.</p><p>Dean flags the bartender for a beer then turns to smile at hot-guy who hasn’t even registered him yet. He reaches out and taps hot-guy on the arm lightly. “Hey…” Hot-guy turns his head with a friendly expression but freezes in terror when he sees Dean. That ain’t gonna get Dean nowhere. “Sorry about before. We got off on the wrong foot. I thought you were out to hurt my little brother. Sam tells me you’re his friends?”</p><p>“Y-yes,” Hot-guy stutters nervously.</p><p>Dean turns on his most charming smile and offers his hand. “Let’s start over. Dean Winchester.”</p><p>Hot-guy takes his hand to shake, still looking apprehensive. “Muh-muh-Michael <em>Nnn</em>Novak.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, for fuck sake. Not one of those stuttering morons, is he? They take so fucking long to talk to.</em>
</p><p>But Michael sounds like his stutter isn’t caused by simple nerves. It’s the way he struggles to get out the N in Novak, as if he has to physically push it out that does it. Benevolence and patience it is then.</p><p>“Michael, huh? Look, Michael, my kid brother has been missing for more than a year. I legit thought he was dead. When I saw him tonight, I was fucking shook, man. And the situation looked, well, it didn’t look like what it was, you get me? I’d kill for my little bro, but I ain’t gonna hurt his friends, right? So I apologize for threatening you.”</p><p>The bartender places Dean’s beer on the bar in front of him and Dean reaches for his wallet. Michael quickly holds out a hand to stop him, saying, “On me,” to the bartender. The bartender nods and wanders down the bar to serve someone else.</p><p>“Thanks,” Dean says and holds up his beer in an invite to clink their bottles together. Michael still looks far too apprehensive for his liking. “Cheers.”</p><p>Michael clinks their bottles and takes a deep swallow of the beer, not taking his eyes off Dean for a second.</p><p>Dean drinks and licks the moist of his lips, noting how Michael’s gaze dips to take in the brief glimpse of his tongue. “So. How did you and Sam get to know each other?” Dean asks.</p><p>“We met here. He k-k-k-came to <em>sss</em>see us puh-puh-play. Wuh-whh-walked up tuh-to our tuh-tuh-table and conguh-congratulat-<em>ttt</em>-ted us on a great gig afterward.”</p><p>“You’re a musician?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised in surprise. Michael nods. “Awesome. What instrument do you play?”</p><p>Michael opens his mouth to answer, closes it again, and looks down at his beer. His lips curve in a small smile. “Guitar. Bass. Puh-puhiano.”</p><p>“Fuck. Multi-talented kind of guy, huh?” Dean asks. Mike looks up, lopsided smile and defeat in his eyes. He nods. “Awesome,” Dean repeats. He wants to butter this guy up so he starts talking, but the stuttering is a fucking hassle.</p><p>“Where’s Sam?” Michael asks, taking Dean by surprise.</p><p>“I dunno, man, I was hoping you’d tell me?”</p><p>Michael shakes his head but raises a skeptical eyebrow at him.</p><p>“Look, man, I was convinced Sam was dead. Last sighting of him was over a year old when he got into a car with some middle-aged douchebag groping him. I never stopped looking for him. Then when I saw him tonight, after the initial scare thinking you were out to do bad things to him, I felt relief. But with relief came anger. I fucked up and yelled at him. He tore the car door open and legged it by a red light. I don’t know what I said that made him freak, but I need to find him and talk to him now when my heart isn’t trying to beat itself out of my ribcage. You gotta help me, man.”</p><p>Michael looks uncertain, a small wrinkle forming between his brows, eyes sympathetic.</p><p>Dean’s just about to launch into another passionate plea when they’re interrupted.</p><p>“Mike-<em>kay</em>! You gotta come back to the table and kick your brothers’ asses. They’re harshing everyone’s mellow. Or you over here moping just like them, bro?” A dudebro-looking guy around Dean’s age slaps a hand to Michael’s back hard enough to make him wince. Michael looks at Dean, eyes wide as a deer in headlights. Dudebro follows his gaze and grins. “Dude. I thought you left with Alex, but I see you’re tryna pull a bigger catch.”</p><p>“Trying to pull?” Dean says, surprised.</p><p>Michael blushes fucking crimson and swallows dryly.</p><p>Dudebro lifts his hands in surrender and takes a step back. “Hey, I ain’t gonna cockblock.”</p><p>“Nobody’s trying to pull anything, man. You a friend of Sam’s too?”</p><p>“Sam’s my man,” Dudebro says and taps a fist over his heart twice in quick succession, then tilts his chin up, head to the side defiantly. “What about it?”</p><p>Dean smiles widely and offers his hand. “Dean Winchester, Sam’s brother.”</p><p>Dudebro lights up. “<em>Bro!</em> Sam’s talked so much about you. You’re his friggin hero, man. Steve,” he says and shakes Dean’s hand. “Sam and I are like this,” he adds and holds up two fingers pressed together to signify how tight they are.</p><p>“Awesome. You know where I can find him?”</p><p>“Nah. He peaced out earlier tonight without saying goodbye. Probably went back to the dorms.”</p><p>“The dorms? Like, a homeless shelter or something?”</p><p>Steve scrunches his face and gives Dean a mocking and skeptical smirk. “No. The college dorms, of course. What, are you stupid or something?”</p><p>“College? Sam’s in college?”</p><p>“Yeah. He didn’t tell you?”</p><p>Dean looks at Michael to get a reluctant nod. Wild, jubilant pride blossoms fierce in Dean’s chest. “Man, that’s <em>awesome</em>! What’s he studying?”</p><p>Steve grins at him in amusement. “Lit. He’s aiming to become a writer or some shit.”</p><p>“How does he afford it?” Dean asks, gears already grinding for a way to provide for the tuition.</p><p>Steve sniggers. “Dude, he got in on a full ride. How come you don’t know that?”</p><p>“Maaan, this is the best news I’ve had in over a year. Sam just took off one day when Dad and I were working. No note, no nothing. I’ve been searching for him ever since. I Expected to find him dead in a ditch and now you telling me my nerdy little brother’s in fucking college, making something of himself? That’s fucking fantastic!”</p><p>Michael loses some of his apprehension to smile at him. He’s got a fucking pretty smile. It’s a shame he’s the silent type.</p><p>Dean looks back at Steve. “Can you give me his phone number?”</p><p>“Sorry, bro. No can do. I forgot to charge my phone so now it’s dead. Mike’s got it too, though.”</p><p>Dean looks at Michael, raising his eyebrows in question.</p><p>“No. B-buh-but if you g-g-give me yours, I can <em>ffff</em>-forward it tuh-tuh-to him,” Michael answers. Which is fair. Annoying, but fair. Dean wouldn’t like it if people went around and handed out Sam’s number willy-nilly. At least now he’s got a general location where Sam lives.</p><p>“Alright.” Dean pulls a black marker out of his inner jacket pocket, grabs Michael’s arm, and pulls it close. He uncaps the pen with his mouth and writes his phone number in big, bold letters. “There. You give him this. And feel free to call or text me. Any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine and I’ll be in town for as long as he is. In fact, could you text me as soon as you’ve given him my number? Just to let me know?” When Dean looks up Michael’s leaning over the arm to see, and they’re joltingly close. The fucker smells as good as he looks.</p><p>“I k-k-can do that,” Michael flusters. Dean wonders if Steve’s remark about pulling maybe wasn’t just a throwaway joke and Michael actually is into guys?</p><p>“Awesome. Hey, Steve, can I get your number too?” Dean asks and puts the pen away, exchanging it for his phone.</p><p>“Sure, it’s…” Steve rattles off his number and Dean programs it into his phone then sends Steve a text so he’ll have Dean’s number as soon as he switches on his phone.</p><p>“Hey, you wanna head over to Zazel’s? This place is dead tonight,” Steve asks.</p><p>Dean throws a look over to the table where blond-asshole and shorty are seated, to find blond-asshole scowling darkly at him. The risk is too great of something going wrong if he stays here tonight, and Steve’s exactly the type of chatty person Dean needs to get a foot in and milk for details on Sam. He smiles widely at Steve. “Sure. Love to.”</p><p>“Mike, you coming too?” Steve asks, slapping Michael on the arm.</p><p>Mike smiles and shakes his head.</p><p>“Your loss. Then come on, Dean. Let’s blow this joint.”</p><p>Dean puts his arm around Michael’s shoulders and offers him a winning smile. “Nice meeting you, Mike. And I’m serious. Text me. Or call. Keep in touch.” Michael’s blushing again, bending his neck, nodding. “I’ll see you around, okay?”</p><p>Dean leaves with Steve, quickly falling into the bro-speak. This has been his life since Sam’s first day at school. Establish himself as too dangerous to mess with and too likable to want to. All to make sure to keep bullies from smelling blood in the water when Dean’s airheaded little recluse of a brother wandered past. He’d gotten good at it. They rolled into town, Dean would assess who he needed to befriend and dive right in. Establish himself at the top of the food chain. Of course, the first couple of years it was tough and he had to be more of a thug than anything. But then, he’d figured out how to infiltrate the popular jocks without having to play sports and Sam’s school days went smooth sailing. Dean’s job was to take care of Sammy when Dad wasn’t around and take care of himself for the rest of the time. Dad taught him how to fight, commit credit card fraud, fix cars, cook, clean, and get odd jobs when needed. Dean taught himself how to network, get with the girls, and drink himself shitfaced.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m so relieved to get out of there. Last week I nailed this chick, Jane, and now she won’t leave me the fuck alone,” Steve complains. “I’m like, ‘Bitch, get off my dick, you’re harshing my mellow,’ and she’s all giggly like, ‘Oh, Steve, you’re so cute when you’re crude.’ Like, fuck, no. Get a fucking hint. I’m just here to have a couple of brewskies and shoot some shit with my bros. I can’t do that if she keeps sticking her tongue in my mouth.”</p><p>Dean sniggers. “She ugly?”</p><p>“No way. Dad would give me too much shit for me to lower my standards. Nah, she’s as pretty as they come. Tiny waist, big eyes, nice rack. That’s not the problem.”</p><p>“You tried insulting her in front of her friends? That usually does the trick.”</p><p>“Bro, I’ve been so mean to her even <em>I</em> can’t stand me. But she won’t get off my case.”</p><p>“<em>Bro.</em>”</p><p>“I know, right? So what’s the deal? Are you like Samster?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean, Mike was blushing furiously for ya. Do you swing both ways?” Steve asks curiously as they turn a street and get in line to a nightclub.</p><p>“Sam swings both ways?”</p><p>“You didn’t know he’s into guys?”</p><p>“Didn’t know he’s into <em>girls</em>,” Dean counters. Steve laughs. “Only time he showed any interest in anyone, it was a boy,” Dean goes on. “He was eleven, going on twelve. We were living in Duluth at the time. I think the boy’s name was Malcolm.” Dean remembers that Malcolm had a stutter worse than Michael’s. He would take two fucking hours to get a sentence out and Sam would just sit there patiently waiting with a dumb smile on his face for Malcolm to finish. “He never brought home friends but Malcolm was the exception. I swear they were glued together by the hip, had tickle fights, sat nerding together over the latest books in a series, played footsies. It was such a deviation from the norm that I went, ‘Huh.’”</p><p>They make it to the front of the line and show the bouncer their IDs and get let in without a hassle.</p><p>“You never had any problem with it?”</p><p>“Nope. Dad had already stated that he was okay with us liking whoeverfuck we liked. It just didn’t occur to me as a realistic option until I saw Sam and Malcolm making doe-eyes at each other,” Dean says then exchanges brief pleasantries with the woman taking their jackets in the wardrobe.</p><p>“And you? You ever crossed over into dong-land?” Steve asks and leads the way, bypassing the bar and dance floor, heading towards the stairs to the second floor.</p><p>Dean chuckles. “Kinda, but not really? Sam tell you we moved around a lot, right?” Steve nods, so Dean goes on. “I was sixteen. Me and my buddies were at a lake party getting smashed. I hung with the jocks and cheerleaders. The school’s star quarterback, a guy named Peter, had adopted me as his new bestie. When it got cold he let me borrow his letterman jacket. I didn’t even consider the implications of that. Hell, the dude had a bombshell girlfriend. But Peter and I had clicked from the start.” On the second floor of the nightclub, there is another bar, and tables instead of a dance floor. It’s quieter here - easier to talk. Steve leads them to the bar and Dean pauses while Steve orders two drinks and a tray of shots. Dean claps him on the shoulder and grins, “My kind of man.”</p><p>They get their order, take their tray and their drinks, and go to find an empty table. After they’ve downed their first shot, Dean goes on. “Peter was an awesome guy, and I’d been hanging out with him since the day we moved there. That night I was kinda bummed out because Dad had said we’d be moving in a few days, so I was heavy on the juice. Peter picked up on my mood and I told him I was moving. So then, it was getting late, and he offered to drive me home. Nothing weird about that, right? He always offered to drive me places. But then, outside the motel where we lived, he turned to me and went, ‘I hope you won’t get mad, but I need to do this. Since you’re moving and I won’t get another chance.’ I was fucking sloshed, so I didn’t see it coming, but the next thing I know, Peter’s got his tongue shoved in my mouth.”</p><p>Steve sucks in a horrified breath. “Bro… what did you do?”</p><p>Dean chuckles. “What I always do when I’m drunk out of my fucking mind and someone I like sticks their tongue in my mouth. I rolled with it.” He grins when Steve lets out a burst of dismayed laughter. “I ain’t gonna lie. If Dad hadn’t come out to glare at us, I might very well have let him bang me without much thought. But in hindsight, I’m glad he spooked since I was so fucking wasted. And that’s my only foray into dong-land.”</p><p>Steve shakes his head. “Yeah. I might be a giant asshole but even I know not to fuck someone too plastered to get what’s happening.”</p><p>Dean picks a shot from the tray and holds it up. “Cheers to that.” Steve grabs a shot and they both down it. “So,” Dean asks when they slam the glasses down and shudder. “How come you’re friends with my nerdy little brother? Don’t get me wrong, but you seem like a cool guy and Sam’s never hung out with people like you.”</p><p>“Hey, man, Samster is smart and bookish, but he ain’t no nerd. It was Brady who introduced us. Brade was roommates with Sam last year. We’re a gang that usually go out party together. Brady, Ennis, Andy, Sam, me, Annie, Tilly, and Christine. Then, thanks to Sam, we started hanging with the band. Mike, Nick, and Gabe. We used to think Sam was shy until Brade managed to coax him to come out with us, but he motherfucking ain’t.”</p><p>“No, he isn’t,” Dean chuckles. “He isn’t exactly the chatty type, but he’s never been afraid of approaching anyone.”</p><p>“He ain’t afraid of doing anything. He’s like, really fun to hang out with. He’s down for anything. Is it true he’s never done ax-throwing before?”</p><p>“<em>Sam?</em>” Dean has to laugh. “I’m surprised he knows which side to hold the ax.”</p><p>“Well, he’s a fucking natural. He flubbed his first three throws and then it was bull’s eye all the way. When I suggested we go to the gym, he protested because he didn’t know how the machines work. I said I’d show him so he went. The next day he bought a black card and has been working out daily. He works as a street-interviewer at Gallup, stopping strangers on the street. I’m telling you, he’s fucking cool, bro.”</p><p>“The band, who are they?” Dean nearly winces at the clumsy question and hides his oh-shit-face behind a gulp of his drink. Luckily, Steve’s had much more to drink than he and doesn’t react to the clumsy transition.</p><p>“There’s Mike, the guy you were talking to. He’s the oldest and by far the best singer. Then there’s Gabe, the youngest. He plays drums mostly. Then there’s Nick. He goes by the stage name Lucifer. Sam’s been hopelessly in love with him since he first lay eyes on Nick on stage.”</p><p>“Nick. Is he the blond guy?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s him. And…” They keep talking, trading stories while Dean milks Steve for details about Sam’s life. He gets to know what places Sam frequents, what he does in his free time, who he hangs out with the most. It appears as if Dean struck gold by aiming for Mike and Steve since those two are the ones Sam socializes with the most.</p><p>3:34 there’s an incoming text from Mike.</p><p>
  <tt>Michael Novak here. Just wanted to let you know, Sam texted. He's at home safely. I gave him your number as promised, but I can't guarantee he calls.</tt>
</p><p>While Dean's tapping out a reply, another text comes.</p><p>
  <tt>Please, don't drag Sam home. He told me he’d been beaten by your father once, and that was when Sam showed him his first acceptance letter. According to Sam, your dad called him ungrateful and accused him of abandoning the family. Sam said it was a longstanding dream of his to go to college and that’s why he ran.</tt>
</p><p>Dean frowns at his screen.</p><p><em>Now, that shit</em> can’t <em>be true.</em></p><p>Another text is incoming.</p><p>
  <tt>He tried to call you once, if that makes you feel better. Your number was no longer in use, but he’s missed you something fierce.</tt>
</p><p>That makes a knot in Dean’s belly twist. Dad had hurled the phone with the number Sam knew into a fucking lake in a fit of rage.</p><p>He deletes what he was about to write and taps out another reply.</p><p>
  <tt>Thanks, man. Hey, how bout we go out to grab a beer someday? Or coffee, lunch, whatever, if that’s your poison? Since I’m new in town I could use some friends, and any friends of Sam’s are friends of mine.</tt>
</p><p>He writes another as soon as he’s hit send.</p><p>
  <tt>Thank god for autocorrect. I’m drunk as a fucking asswipe. If it wasn’t for the word suggestions anything I write would be illegible. 😉 Better call quits and go crash for the night</tt>
</p><p>It isn’t true. He’s drunk, yes, but not drunk enough to fuck up texting. He wrote the text to make him seem harmless and unthreatening.</p><p>Mike answers right away.</p><p>
  <tt>And you use “asswipe” often enough for it to be one of your suggested words???😂😂😂 </tt>
</p><p>Dean answers, <tt>Dude. What can I say? It’s just part of my charm.😎 (It was either that, or “assembly”)<br/>Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.</tt></p><p>He pockets his phone and goes back to paying attention to Steve. They share a cab home, dropping off Steve first. Steve points out Ennis’ house two houses down from his, and Brady’s former house, across the street from Steve. Brady’s family moved to a larger, cheaper house further away from the city when Brady got his kid-sister. Once Steve’s safely delivered to his door, Dean bids the cab to take him to The Blue Lotus, Sam’s former motel. He’s in luck and there’s one vacancy. He checks into the room. Tomorrow he’ll scope out Sam’s local gym and befriend the staff, then he’ll familiarize himself with the pier and pool hall Sam’s said to frequent. He’s a bit hesitant to go for the college grounds just yet. He doesn’t want Sam to spook before Dean’s firmly implanted in Sam’s friend group.</p><p>It’s fucking funny. He’s doing what he used to do to keep Sam safe - inserting himself as an important part of a target’s life, but this time the target is Sam. Who knew the day would come? Usually, the target was a quarterback, a rich, popular girl, or some other school figurehead.</p><p>He’s not ready to deal with the lies Sam’s been telling about Dad. That’s a problem for another day. He needs his brother back first and foremost.</p><p>The important part is, if Sam ever runs again, Dean will be so familiar with Sam’s life that he’ll know where to look.</p><p>He briefly considers texting Dad. He chooses not to. If Dad wakes up from the text notification he’ll call and yell at Dean for letting Sam get away.</p><p>He’s <em>so</em> not in the mood for a verbal thrashing.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's sometimes hard to wrap my head around why someone who's experienced abuse doesn't just hate the abuser. My beta also cringes every time Sam has a good memory of or misses his dad. But people are complex. I've talked a lot with my mom about her dad who abused her both sexually, verbally, and physically, and despite her always being afraid of him, she still has good memories of him. She doesn't miss him. But when she was young, it was different, and it has taken her many years to come to terms with all the things she's gone through.</p><p>Dean. Dean's instant reaction of denial is common amongst close relatives. Give him time.<br/>Mike did right in not giving out Sam's number even if he didn't know of Sam's past. Just like he didn't give Nick Sam's phone number without permission.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mike has his head full of something he shouldn't be worrying about. Sam's problem handling emotions that stem from what he's been through is getting worse. Sam and Dean are finally reunited.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Implied child abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</div><p>Michael puts his glass on the table and sits down now that there are fewer people at the table. Angela and Ennis are busy making out. Lisa and Brady are talking amongst themselves, and the other hang-arounds have left or gone to socialize with people that aren’t killing their good mood. Gabe’s busy texting, but Nick glares at Mike. “Was that Dean Winchester I saw you talking to?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mike answers and sighs forlornly. He reaches out and tips his glass from side to side, watching the bubbles in the liquid.</p><p>“The hell was he doing here?”</p><p>“He said he’d been so worried about Sam that he got angry when the fear was released. He yelled at Sam and Sam took off running. He asked me where Sam was.”</p><p>“Did you tell him?”</p><p>Mike levels Nick with a dry look. “Yes, naturally, I am that stupid,” he snarks.</p><p>Nick holds up his hands in defeat and briefly turns his head away.</p><p>“He asked me to forward his number to Sam, which I will,” Mike adds.</p><p>Nick scowls. “No. He’s fishy. I can feel it.”</p><p>“Sam loves him. He’s tried to call Dean before. I didn’t give Dean Sam’s number. The ball will be in Sam’s court.”</p><p>Nick leans over the table and lowers his voice. “Mike, the guy pulled a knife on us, then less than two hours later he shows up here all smiles? It reeks.”</p><p>“If you’re so suspicious, why didn’t you come to chase him off?” Mike counters irritably, Dean’s smile dancing for his inner eye.</p><p>Nick pulls back with a grumpy grimace. He avoids Mike’s gaze, looking first at Gabe tapping away on his phone, then at the people in the locale. Finally, he takes a deep breath and leans forward again, looking at Mike. “I’m trying to see it from Sam’s perspective. When I nearly hit him, he froze up. But when his brother saw him by all appearance threatened by two and a half men, he didn’t hesitate to jump into the fray. He still had the presence of mind to hold himself back when Sam was out of danger. I respect that. But him showing up here, all smiles a little while later? He’s fishy. Too much emotional control. I don’t trust him.”</p><p>Mike stares at him flatly. “You respect him for having his head in the game but you distrust him for the same reason?”</p><p>“It’s not like Sam would appreciate it if I went up and preemptively stabbed his brother in the back. But there’s no way I’m gonna let that guy drag Sam back to hell.”</p><p>“I don’t think he will. When Steve said Sam’s in college, Dean lit up like a Christmas tree. I think he was genuinely happy.”</p><p>“Whatever. Sam ran out on him so I don’t trust him. You heard back from Sam?”</p><p>“No. You?”</p><p>Nick shakes his head. “I don’t think he’ll come back here tonight. What do you say we call it a day?”</p>
<hr/><p>Sam’s finally texted, saying he’s back in the dorms. It’s a relief. Mike would much rather prefer that he’d be here, where they could support him. But at least he’s safe. He hasn’t responded after Mike texted him Dean’s number. Mike hadn’t really expected him to.</p><p>He’s having a freakout of his own.</p><p>When he came face to face with Dean he’d had the ‘Oh no,’ of a bad situation rapidly going worse. But he’d also had a much bigger, ‘<em>OH NO!</em>’ of another kind. The kind that made his heart leap and his mouth dry in a way that wasn’t connected to knives being waved around.</p><p>It's bad.</p><p>It's bad because normally he follows a pattern of, ‘Oh, she's cute’→ ’Oh, no, she's cute.’→ ‘Oh no, she's perfect!’ It allowed him to be nervous and struggle with his shyness, but didn't tie his tongue.</p><p>Now? It took one look at Dean Winchester to stop him from remembering how to breathe. Trying to speak to the man sent him into a fully-fledged panic. His stutter came back with a vengeance, and with it, deep-seated shame and defeat.</p><p>It had taken him almost a full hour to work up the courage to just <em>text</em> Dean.</p><p>He reads Dean's responses one more time and wishes he didn't want to read things between the lines. Dean seems like he means exactly what he's saying. Yet there's a small, hopeful moron in the back of Mike's head that goes, 'but what if…?'</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Thanks, man. Hey, how bout we go out grab a beer someday? Or coffee, lunch, whatever, if that’s your poison? Since I’m new in town I could use some friends, and any friends of Sam’s are friends of mine.</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean W:</b> Thank god for autocorrect. I’m drunk as a fucking asswipe. If it wasn’t for the word suggestions anything I write would be illegible. 😉 Better call quits and go crash for the night</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> And you use “asswipe” often enough for it to be one of your suggested words???😂😂😂 </tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Dude. What can I say? It’s just part of my charm.😎 (It was either that, or “drunk as an assembly”)<br/>
Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.</tt>
</p><p>Nick saw the texts before he crashed on the couch. (It’s Mike’s fault for laughing out loud at the text exchange.) <em>He</em> claims Dean's not nearly as drunk as he pretends to be, and is therefore even more suspicions of Dean. ‘<em>First he’s smiling when he shouldn’t be, and now he’s trying to claim to use words like illegible when he’s hammered. He’s lying to us, Mike. I don’t trust him</em>.’</p><p>Sometimes Mike wishes he was an only child. Figuratively.</p><p>It’s with a sense of dread he realizes his brothers will figure out how he feels. The only reason they haven’t yet, is because of what happened with Sam tonight.</p><p>When they played the song, Sam paled. Mike could see him go from unaffected to white as a sheet covered in a sheen of sweat in less than the four-minute duration of the song.</p><p>It was far more confirmation than they needed.</p><p>
  <em>Poor kid.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And here I am, wanting to text Sam to ask if his brother is off-limits. I’m such a jerk.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean’s smile, though…</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Mike smiles broadly as he approaches Sam, smile widening when Sam opens his arms for a hug.</p><p>There are no words to describe the relief.</p><p>He'd worried they'd scared off Sam for good with the radio silence the days after the gig, but then Sam started to respond to a few texts, and today he'd called, asking to meet up.</p><p>Sam wraps his arms around Mike and hugs him hard. "Hey…"</p><p>Hugging back just as hard, Mike says, “Hey, yourself! I’ve missed you. Was worried you’d decided to abandon us.”</p><p>Sam pulls back a bit but doesn’t fully let go of the embrace. “No. I, I just wanted to be alone for a while. I missed you too.”</p><p>Mike lets go of Sam, then raises a hand to run it through Sam’s hair before he can stop himself. It’s one of the hardest things about staying friends with an ex; you’ve got an established pattern of habitual intimate touches that you need to re-learn lest you’ll be sucked back in without noticing. “You’ve cut your hair. Looks great.” It’s shorter, but not short. Still as soft and floppy as it ever was.</p><p>“Thanks,” Sam smiles, something sad flashing in his eyes briefly before turning into mischief. “Steve forced me. Apparently, the bro code dictates that you don’t let a bro sulk in his room like some loser for too long. He banged on my door until my new roommate opened. Then he stomped in and told me my hair was so long I looked like a chick, and when chicks are sad they cut their hair, plus, no respectable bro puts up with split ends.” Mike laughs. Sam lets go of him and turns away, indicating for Mike to follow with a head jerk. “After we’d gotten our hair cut he dragged me to laser tag, then to get a beer. I’m glad he did. I didn’t think I wanted it, but I was going mad without company.”</p><p>“Your new roommate isn’t good company?”</p><p>Sam shrugs. “He’s a freshman named Kevin Tran, who takes his studies very seriously. He’s very uptight and stressed. Had a blowup on Steve for being noisy and Steve threatened to dunk him in the toilet. Honestly? Kevin might have been a great roommate for me last year. But, now…” He shakes his head then points to a restaurant. “Can we eat there? Always wanted to try sushi.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>They cross the street, enter the restaurant, and place their order. It’s a decent enough sushi place, but if Mike had known Sam wanted sushi he’d taken him to a more genuine establishment that offered an experience as well as food. This place has nice, private tables, though, and they get seats by the window. “Sometimes I wish things could just go back to how they were,” Sam complains when they’re seated.</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“Back when I couldn’t feel. I mean, I could <em>feel</em>, obviously, but things were simple. If Dad and Dean were happy, so was I. If they weren’t, I had a knot in my stomach. So I felt. But not, like, like.” Sam makes a noise of frustration and drags a finger behind his ear to hitch a lock of hair in place. It falls right back. “It started back when Brady and I got together and snowballed from there. Now it’s like I feel too much at once and it makes it hard to think. It’s so annoying. Like you. When I see you I want to go to your place and make out for hours on the couch. But I also don’t want that, because I want to keep you as a friend. Or, like, you and Alex. She seemed like an awesome girl that would be perfect for you. And, and, I was happy for you, right? But I was jealous at the same time. I can’t make it make sense. Are feelings always this hard?”</p><p>Mike laughs. “Yes, they are. I haven’t had a non-complicated feeling in my life.”</p><p>Sam seems to relax by hearing that, and chuckles. “Are you dating Alex?”</p><p>“I am. But it won’t last.” Mike’s mouth dries up from sudden nerves. He takes a deep drink from his soda, knowing the follow-up question that’s coming.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I met someone. I can’t get serious with Alex while I’m stuck on someone else.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter. Unattainable, remember?” Mike jokes.</p><p>Their food arrives. They smile and thank the waitress, and Mike sniggers at Sam’s dubious look when he discovers there are only chopsticks available. There’s a lull in the conversation while Mike shows Sam how to use the chopsticks and how to eat the sushi. Sam’s discovery of the unfathomable joys of wasabi causes Mike to laugh out loud. Mike’s the type to <em>scrape off</em> wasabi, while Sam smears on more.</p><p>For a little while, it’s a welcome distraction to watch Sam try out the different types of sushi, while Mike points out his own, Nick’s, and Gabe’s favorites.</p><p>But then Mike can’t hold back on the topic that’s been pressing the inside of his teeth since he met up with Sam. “So... did you call your brother?”</p><p>Sam looks up from his food briefly, then answers with downcast eyes. “No, uh… I want to. But, um… He said he’d take me home, and, I, uh…”</p><p>“I’m not so sure that’s his goal anymore. He came to Anchor when he’d calmed down. He said he’d yelled at you when his fear turned into relief. Steve told him you were in college and Dean lit up like the sun. He looked so happy about it. I don’t think he was faking.”</p><p>Sam bites his lip and looks up from under his bangs. He seems both hopeful and apprehensive.</p><p>“I’ll tell you what,” Mike says. “If you want to meet up with him but are afraid he’ll grab you and make a run for it, you can invite him to come to Anchor tomorrow. We’ll all be there. Bring Steve and the guys. Dean told us you ran away from home so it’s no secret anymore. Tell them not to leave you alone with him because you’re afraid he’ll take you back. If you <em>want</em> to meet him, that is.”</p><p>
  <em>Please, say yes.</em>
</p><p>It’s such idiocy to hope for. Mike really wants to see Dean again but he can’t if Sam wants him out of his life.</p><p>Sam perks up. “I do! That’s, that’s a great idea. You have his number, right? Could you do it? I don’t want him to have mine until I’m sure he won’t give it to Dad.”</p><p>“Sh-sure. Of course.” Mike fakes a smile to hide his panic and fishes up his phone. His hands start to sweat while tapping out the message. He curses inwardly. It shouldn’t be so hard to just <em>text someone</em>.</p><p>
  <tt>Hi, Dean. It’s Michael, Sam’s friend. We’re playing at Pub Anchor tomorrow and Sam will be there. I was wondering if you’d like to come?</tt>
</p><p>“Is that alright?” Mike asks and hands over the phone to Sam.</p><p>Sam reads. “Yeah,” he answers and hands the phone back, message sent.</p><p>Mike moves to pocket his phone when it chirps for incoming text. He startles.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Hells yeah, I'm coming! Thanks, man.</tt>
</p><p>Then another message right away.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> You don't need to tell me who you are. I've got saved as a contact. 😉</tt>
</p><p>"Let me see!" Sam says and snatches the phone from Mike's hand.</p><p>Like a moron, Mike thinks Sam will just read. Instead, Sam starts tapping away. It’s followed by a chirp. Sam’s eyes narrow, lips pulling into a crooked smirk like it does when he’s up to no good. He writes something. Mike watches in dread. A brief pause, another chirp, and once again Sam starts tapping away.</p><p>“What are you doing? Hey, give me my phone back. What are you writing?” Mike asks nervously.</p><p>Sam looks up and gives him a reassuring smile. “I'm chatting with my brother. Relax. Just lean back and smile.”</p><p>Mike does lean back, giving Sam a tight, amused smile, trying not to look terrified. “Yes, but he believes you’re me so be careful of what you’re writing. I don’t want―” The camera shutter sound cuts him off, sending his pulse racing. “Did you take a picture of me? Sam, what are you doing?! Give me my phone back!” he says and reaches for the phone.</p><p>Sam leans back and holds out a hand to wave off Mike’s attempt to reclaim his property. The bastard’s smiling, still writing. “No. I just wanna…” Another chirp, and now Sam’s grinning.</p><p>Existential dread and panic make Mike launch himself over the table and yank his phone back. Heart hammering, he reads the conversation.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> I don't know how many Michaels you have in your contacts. I'm not that presumptuous.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Too many, dude. On that note, can you send me a selfie for my phone book?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> I'll show you mine if you show me yours 😉</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> [Picture attached] </tt>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> [Picture attached] </tt>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Thanks. So, you got any plans for tonight? Wanna go grab a beer or something?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Sorry, no can do. Tonight I’m busy entertaining your brother. If you want my attention, you’ve got to earn it… 😉</tt>
</p><p>“Jesus Christ, Sam! I never thought I’d have to say this phrase; but you can’t use my phone <em>to flirt with your brother!</em>”</p><p>The fact that Dean hasn’t instantly responded makes Mike cold all over. He hurriedly taps out a message of his own.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Shit. I apologize. I got carried away. Didn’t mean for it to sound like it did.</tt>
</p><p>“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad,” Sam chuckles.</p><p>“Not that bad? He could be homophobic for all I know! He might want to sucker-punch me at first sight for something like this. I’ve met him <em>once</em> for about five minutes. Hardly enough to be throwing innuendos and subtext around,” Mike scolds.</p><p>“He’s not homophobic,” Sam smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “I know he isn’t.”</p><p>“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’d welcome comeons from perfect strangers like this. Is he even into guys?” Mike berates, then looks at his phone when it chirps.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> No problem. I’m not gonna lie. There was a certain ambiguity in that message I wasn’t entirely certain how to respond to. 😅 Say hello to my overgrown nerd brother from me and I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? </tt>
</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sam answers and takes a sip of his coke. “I’ve never seen him hook up with a guy, but…” Sam purses his lips and bends his neck, eyes moving as if he’s thinking, looking at memories inside his head. “Huh. I don’t know, actually. In high school he was sort of flirty with everybody. But like you after a gig, you know?”</p><p>“Like me?”</p><p>“Yeah. You know. Flirty without aiming for sex? Like the first night we met. You acted flirtily with me but I didn’t get any sense of you wanting anything from me. Not even after I accidentally kissed you and you kissed back. So, like, a general charmer?”</p><p>“Accidentally, huh?” Mike asks distractedly and taps out a response.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Will do. Take care.</tt>
</p><p>“Yeah. Your face was close so I kissed you. It’s usually what people want when they’re that close.”</p><p>Mike chuckles and shakes his head. He can’t help how his belly drops in disappointment, knowing Dean doesn’t mean anything by coming on strong in his texts. He’s flirty with everyone. Nothing to take seriously.</p><p>
  <em>I’m dumb. I need to forget about him. He doesn’t mean anything he implies.</em>
</p><p>His phone chirps.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> 😘</tt>
</p><p>
  <em>Although… maybe he does?</em>
</p><p>Mike wants to scream in frustration.</p><p>“Oh, and I sent myself the picture of Dean,” Sam adds. “I only have one, and it was old. It’s nice to have something recent. Can I see what he answered?”</p><p>“No. He says hello, and you’re never touching my phone again,” Mike answers decisively and pockets his phone just to be sure.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean fucking hates being alone. Almost as much as he hates having nothing to do.</p><p>He’s kept himself busy. Apart from taking a few shifts at Henderson’s Moving Co and looking up auto repair services that might have job openings he’d circled Sam like a shark. Figuratively. He’s too fucking scared Sam will run again so he figures he’s better off letting Sam come to him when he’s good and ready.</p><p>What he <em>had</em> done, was to get to know Sam’s friends. He’d gone for burgers with Steve, Ennis, Andy, and Brady. Had lunch with Brady and Lisa. A couple of beers with Steve, Ennis, and Tilly. Coffee with Tilly and Annie. Gone dancing with Annie and Angela. Hit the gym with Steve. Played basketball with the guys. Played Call of Duty and crashed at Steve’s. Networked the fuck out of them.</p><p>He’d figured out that Sam belonged to two friend groups that only interacted at Pub Anchor. The missing part was the band. His only foot in there was Michael, who, this far, had resisted his two attempts to worm himself in.</p><p>He lifts his phone and opens their last text convo again to frown at it. The, “I show you mine if you show me yours”-line could be construed as ordinary banter. It’s the follow-up text about having to earn Mike’s attention that has him confused. An opening like that with a stranger would under ordinary circumstances lead to either a date or sexting, and Dean had <em>never</em> had a conversation like that with a guy. Yeah, no, sure. There had been some questionable banter before, but only with guys he knew decently well in real life and already had a locker-room jargon with.</p><p>Now, he’s found out several things about the band members. They are brothers. Sam supposedly is in love with Nick, the blond asshole. It’s believed that the sentiment is returned, yet Nick keeps turning Sam down for being too young.</p><p>Michael, on the other hand, is the oldest, and <em>Sam’s fucking ex.</em></p><p>Dean’s got some very strong opinions about that, but he’ll keep them to himself for now. (A few years ago Mike might have received a baseball bat to the back of his head for the effort. Today, Dean’s a lot better at stepping back and getting his facts straight before he acts.) Bottom line is, Sam, Nick, and Mike are openly bi.</p><p>That puts Dean in a situation that is un-fucking-preceded.</p><p>The hell does he know about queers? He’s never interacted with them before.</p><p>Dean frowns harder at his own kissy smiley, wondering if it was the wrong move.</p><p>His M.O. is to stand out, be memorable enough to be accepted. The stand-out part was never hard back in school. Just make enough noise and don’t duck your head when it makes people look. The most fruitful type of noise is the kind that makes people like you, and allows you to blend into their friend-group as if you’d always been part of it. <em>That</em> was hard. He’s good at it because of his many failures.</p><p>The fuck does he know about blending in with queers?</p><p>He’s even more confused because he knows Michael’s dating a woman named Alex. That in itself isn’t discombobulating; people are cheating assholes. But according to everyone and their aunt, Michael is a goody-two-shoes, who’d never even consider flirting with someone else when in a relationship.</p><p>
  <em>Okay, fair. But if you’d ask anyone, they’d say Dad would never harm a hair on my head either, so the fuck do they know?</em>
</p><p>He looks at the clock, sees it’s time to go, and pockets his phone. He grabs his jacket, locks the motel door, and starts walking.</p><p>He’s chosen to walk because he’s nervous. Nervous about seeing Sam again. Afraid of another rejection. He misses Sam. Sam deserves a fucking thrashing for running away from home. Mostly because Sam took off on Dean’s watch, and, <em>hoo</em> boy. Let’s just say Dad wasn’t happy and leave it at that. He briefly touches his right-side ribs at the memory.</p><p>The evening weather is nice. Overcast, but balmy. He occupies his mind with going over what he’s learned about Sam since he got here.</p><p>Honestly, if he hadn’t <em>seen</em> Sam, he’d have thought he was on the wrong track judging by the friends Sam kept.</p><p>Sam’s college friends mostly belonged to what he’d come to think of as the ‘royalty fringe’. Those kids in High School that weren’t the immediate hotshots, but were welcome to hang with them. Brady and Tilly at the outer fringe, and Steve and Annie closer to the core.</p><p>That’s as if Sam would’ve hung out almost with the same people as Dean back in High School. Which he sure as hell <em>didn’t</em>.</p><p>It’s even more mystifying that <em>Steve</em> is the closest to Sam. Brady, he would’ve understood. Brady is soft, thoughtful, observant, positive, and friendly at his core. Brady plays at being more macho than he is. Steve is one of those guys Dean was trying to protect Sam from in school. Steve has violence in him and will puff himself up when challenged.</p><p>Dean whistles as he walks. It’s a nervous habit to tamper down his anxiety. He wonders if there are people who don’t have a madly spinning tumbleweed of doom behind their sternum on a daily basis, or if most people are just as good at faking as him?</p>
<hr/><p>Dean’s mouth is dry when he makes his way past the wardrobe at Pub Anchor. He stops and scans the patrons, quickly spotting Steve talking to Ennis by the bar, an absolute bombshell of a girl slicked to Steve’s side. Dean wonders if that’s Jane. Behind them, by the short end of the bar is the rest of the gang, including the band and some unfamiliar faces. He can’t see Sam, but Michael’s spotted him already. Dean grins and makes a what’s-up nod. Michael’s lips quirk up in a slight smile, but he looks tense and nervous. Dean hopes Sam didn’t back out. If he did, tonight will be all about winning the band over and gain continuous access to their company. Including the blond asshole, currently intent on someone standing with their back leaned against the bar, Gabe sitting next to him looking at his phone instead of his companions.</p><p>Dean takes a deep breath to collect himself.</p><p>
  <em>Showtime.</em>
</p><p>He goes to greet Steve first. Everyone is to be greeted according to their species. The chest-high arm-wrestling grip for Steve, pulled in for a brief, backslapping hug. The double fist-hit for Ennis: hold out the fist to get it hit from above, then hit the top of Ennis fist. Handshake, a warm smile, and a cheeky comment for Jane who introduces herself as Steve’s girlfriend. Make silent note of Steve not calling her that. Handshake and flirty wink for Nina, Jane’s friend. Two air-cheek kisses for Annie and Tilly. Brief hugs and cheeky comments for Brady and Lisa. Handshake for Christine. Christine doesn’t like him. He can tell. Bitch. A warm hug for Angela, and he’s by the unfamiliar part of the company. It’s a fucking dance.</p><p>Handshake for Alex, bright smile and flattering comment. He’s got no idea how to greet Mike. Fuck. Handshake and pull in for a brief one-armed hug and a cheeky remark. Mike tenses up slightly, but smiles. It might be his first stumble of the evening. Can’t be helped. Nick’s turn. Half-turn with one arm still on Mike’s shoulder to create fake-familiarity. Knife to the gut. No? Whelp, handshake it is then. Extend arm as far as it will go and stay by Mike’s side, all to prevent hostility. Big friendly smile. Nick shakes his hand with a big smile of his own - showing teeth. Nick doesn’t like him. Fucking asshole.</p><p>Turn around to greet Gabe by the bar, but―</p><p>Dean’s mind comes to a screeching halt, pulse jumping into overdrive.</p><p>
  <em>Sam.</em>
</p><p>It’s no wonder Dean hadn’t recognized him when he only saw his back. A week ago Sam’s hair had been much longer, and Dean’s mind had only sketchily registered the bodily changes of his little brother, but hadn’t yet internalized them.</p><p>Instead of the scrawny twerp in his mind stands a 20ft beefcake looking at him apprehensively. Sam’s lips quirk into a tiny, uncertain smile. The look in his eyes; almost fearful.</p><p>For a few seconds, time stands still.</p><p>“Heya, Sammy. I heard you’re in college now?” Dean manages to get out.</p><p>“Um. Yeah,” Sam answers and swallows dryly.</p><p>Dean’s face split into a huge grin. “<em>Fuck yeah!</em> Way to go, Sammy. I’m so fucking proud of you!” Sam hitches a little breath in surprise, smile widening, eyebrows raising as if he wasn’t expecting that. Dean holds out his arms and steps closer, grabbing Sam by the shoulders to pull him in for a hard hug, getting a hesitant one in return. “So fucking proud of you, you little jerk. You hear? I thought you were dead and you’re out here making something of yourself. That’s fucking awesome, you hear?”</p><p>Sam’s arms suddenly squeezes Dean harder, pressing them together while Sam bends his forehead to hide it against Dean’s shoulder.</p><p>It’s as if Dean’s whole being lets out a shuddering breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.</p><p>“I’m not going home,” Sam mumbles into Dean’s shirt.</p><p>“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. The semester just started. I’d have to kick your ass if you dropped out now.”</p><p>Sam hiccups a little giggle. He’s quiet for a beat, then his shoulders start to shake.</p><p>At first, Dean thinks he’s laughing, but then Sam sniffles. “Aw, Christ, Sam. You’re not bawling, are you? You gonna give me allergies,” Dean complains in response to the realization that Sam’s crying. His own eyes start to sting so he closes them.</p><p>Sam shakes his head and sobs, head still bent against Dean’s shoulder, hidden from onlookers.</p><p>Dean rocks Sam comfortingly. He lowers his voice and mutters, “Dammit, Sammy, what did I tell you about chick flick moments? You’re gonna get snot all over my shirt. I’m gonna have to walk around shirtless. The waitresses won’t be able to focus and we’ll all be thrown out.”</p><p>Sam makes a noise between a laugh and another sob. “I thought I’d never see you again. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you every day,” he mumbles.</p><p>“You coulda told me where you went. I woulda gone with you,” Dean answers softly. He can hear that they’re the focus of the surrounding people because nobody’s talking. He hates it, because he can’t give into the lump in his throat and the sting in his eyes with people watching.</p><p>“No. I couldn’t,” Sam sobs.</p><p>Dean would answer. He really would. If only his throat hadn’t closed up. He keeps his eyes closed and stands silently rocking Sam until Sam’s sobs have abated. “Alright. That’s enough,” he says, opens his eyes blinking away the moist, and eases his hold of Sam without letting go. He grins and looks around. “Can anybody get me some napkins for the crybaby? And, you know, my allergies,” he adds jokingly. He takes in their audience. “Seems like you’ve developed allergies too,” he jokes. Almost all of Sam’s surrounding friends are glossy-eyed or have tear tracks on their faces, covering their mouths with a hand or grinning widely. Not, he notes, Nick, who’s staring at Dean with an unreadable look. Alex starts rummaging in her purse but she’s not fast enough for Dean’s taste. He raises his arm and snaps his fingers at the bartender, one arm still around Sam. “Oy! Dawson! Can we get some napkins, please? We’ve got an ocular leakage problem over here.” The bartender, Dawson (Dean learned his name earlier in the week when he stopped by for a beer), efficiently whisks a napkin holder onto the bar and Dean grabs a bunch handing them to Sam, still holding onto Sam with one hand. “Here you go, twerp.”</p><p>Sam chuckles self-consciously, red-nosed and eyes red-rimmed, and takes the offering with a mumbled thanks and blows his nose.</p><p>Finally, Dean allows himself to focus on the one person he hasn’t introduced himself to yet; the widely grinning shorty by the bar. He extends his hand towards Gabe with his big show-smile slapped into place. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. Dean Winchester, big brother of the jolly giant over here.”</p><p>Gabe shakes his hand. Smile genuine and open, mischief in his glossy eyes. “Gabriel Slate. But you can call me Gabe.” Gabe likes him. It’s mutual. <em>Click.</em> Sometimes you can just tell there’s potential for an awesome friendship at first hello.</p><p>Dean still hasn’t let go of Sam’s upper arm. If he could choose, he never would. Dean throws a look over his shoulder to find Mike staring at him with a soft smile. Dean throws him a wink on auto-pilot. The guy blushes and averts his gaze. He’s fucking cute.</p>
<hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean's the type of guy who makes an impression. Sam regains a few lost memories. Mike can't stop staring.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for slurs and general assholery.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>  </p>
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>“So, is Mike the lead singer, or not?” Dean asks once Sam’s dragged him to stand in front of the stage so they’d get good places. Dean’s seen <em>a lot</em> of live bands―both concerts and in bars―and the fact that people are getting up to form a crowd in front of the stage for a band that’s been playing twice a week all summer―in a <em>bar</em>―tells him The Archangels are probably better than decent. Everyone keeps saying that Mike’s the best singer. Because of the stutter, Dean thought they meant none of the guys could sing. But if they draw a crowd this big...?</p>
<p>“No. They don’t really have a lead singer,” Sam says and hooks an arm over Dean’s shoulders. Sam’s been searching for as much physical contact as Dean, needing to establish that this was real, and Dean was really here.</p>
<p>“Mike is definitely the lead singer,” Angela contradicts. “He’s the most gifted, has the widest vocal range, and the most charisma. All of them sing, but he’s the star.”</p>
<p>“Nick’s got charisma too,” Sam says with a petulant frown.</p>
<p>Angela and Alex seem to think that’s hilarious. Alex smiles at Dean. “You’ll have to judge for yourself.”</p>
<p>Steve jostles his way through the crowd to join them. “Phew. Never thought I’d get away from that leech.”</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t call your girlfriend a leech,” Angela snips with a disgusted twist to her lips. Both she and Steve are awesome, but together they’re like oil and water.</p>
<p>Steve pulls down his collar to reveal a set of prominent hickeys. “Leech, <em>biatch</em>,” he deadpans with a quarrelsome posture, staring at Angela as if challenging her to a fight.</p>
<p>Dean tugs him in, back against Dean’s chest, a small push to the side so he’s closer to Sam. “Chill out, bro. You stand here and she won’t see you behind my gargantuan brother and me.”</p>
<p>Steve gives Angela one last glare and settles leaning back against Sam and Dean.</p>
<p>Then Nick walks onto the stage, hangs a bass over his neck, and starts playing a simple rhythm. He’s not looking at the audience.</p>
<p>“They’re gonna start with ‘River’,” Sam explains.</p>
<p>“Yes. Mike’s super nervous today,” Alex says, looking at the stage. “So they decided to start with the songs they know very well.”</p>
<p>“Why’s he nervous?” Sam asks. On stage, Gabe goes to sit behind the drums and joins in with the rhythm Nick’s playing.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Alex answers. “He didn’t say.”</p>
<p>More people join the crowd in front of the stage now that the musicians have announced their presence.</p>
<p>Michael finally comes on stage. He exchanges a look with Lucifer and heads straight for a mic, plants his feet firmly, closes his eyes, and starts clapping on the base note in the dragging rhythm, getting a few people to clap with him. His forehead is already sweat-glistening. Dean can relate to stage-fright. Dean <em>loves</em> to be on stage, but the moment before showtime is terrifying, mouth-drying, and nauseating. Doesn’t matter if it’s giving a speech in front of a class, participating in a school play or open mic night, or being the first one to step onto an empty dance floor.</p>
<p>Then, Mike begins to sing.</p>
<p>“<em>How do we fall in love? Harder than a bullet could hit you. How do we fall apart? Faster than a hairpin trigger…</em>” It’s soft, and a little sad, and he looks up at the audience as if asking them.</p>
<p>Gabriel and Lucifer add some backup vocals on the build-up to the chorus. Then Michael grabs the mic and the energy changes. The song’s slow rhythm remains the same, but Michael sings from his toes, putting every fiber of his soul into it. “<em>Shut your mouth, baby, stand and deliver! Holy hands, oh, they make me a sinner!…</em>”</p>
<p>It’s motherfucking magic, is what it is.</p>
<p>Dean’s got goose pimples all over.</p>
<p>The stuttering model moron he first met at the bar a week ago is gone, replaced by a rockstar wearing his face.</p>
<p>
  <em>I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that.</em>
</p>
<p>A look to his side tells him that Sam’s gazing at Nick, utterly, disgustingly enthralled. Nick’s returning that look with a predatory one, smirking, rolling his hips lewdly as he sings along to the chorus.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jeezus, buddy, keep it in your pants.</em>
</p>
<p>As the set wears on, it gets worse. Sam and Nick are eye-fucking so hard they could take an entrance fee at a porn club. Dean has strong opinions about it, but Nick’s a decent singer, Dean will give him that.</p>
<p>Gabe’s a fucking star percussionist. He has the same playful style as John Bonham, often lining up with the guitar instead of the bass, and has a flair for adding ghost notes on the snare that adds that extra touch. In other songs he has the subtlety of Steward Copeland, putting more focus on his high hat and cymbals. He looks like he’s having a great time and Dean’s fucking vibing. Gabe’s rock-solid, keeping his brothers steady, guiding them.</p>
<p>They do some changes, switching instruments and who takes the lead on songs. While that’s impressive an’ all, they’re at the best when they keep to their specialties. Mike’s an amazing allround musician at his best when he plays piano and sings. When he sings ‘Because of You’ by Kelly Clarkson Dean develops another case of allergies. That’s okay, because his nerd-giant brother’s crying openly. Nick mainly plays bass, does a decent job on the drums, but fucking shines on the electric guitar.</p>
<p>Mostly, though, they fucking <em>bring it</em>.</p>
<p>They’ve got that thing that makes live music so entrancing. Each of them with a different energy: Nick’s anger and sex, Mike’s sincerity and cheeky swagger, and Gabe’s either enthusiasm or pain.</p>
<p>But it’s their last song before the break that fully does it for him. Dean recognizes the song from the first notes already. Gabe’s on drums, Mike’s on bass, and Nick’s on electric guitar. Gabe takes the lead. His voice is surprisingly well suited for the song - Change your mind, by Neil Young.</p>
<p>Dean closes his eyes, head tipped back, biting his lip over a smile, moving, nodding along, mouthing some of the lyrics. Hands down low he discreetly moves his fingers playing invisible strings.</p>
<p>Sam might have a crush on the guy, but when Nick dives in on the guitar solo, it’s Dean Nick’s making love to whether he knows it or not. <em>Fuck</em>, he’s good. He has some flourishes that differ from the original but it’s all good.</p>
<p>Dean keeps his eyes closed for the majority of the song to more easily be able to tell the different instruments from each other. He’s worked up a sweat. He’s physically unable to stand still while listening to live music if the musicians are any good.</p>
<p>He opens his eyes to see Mike staring at him with a small smile from the stage, so Dean grins, gives him two thumbs up, and mimes ‘Wow’. Mike’s face split in a sunny grin, eyes sparkling, fucking <em>blushing</em>. A grown man wearing makeup shouldn’t be that cute. And that chest, those arms―Dean can see why women drool over him. Dean would too if he was a girl.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam’s thrilled. Dean loves the band! Sam worried he wouldn’t like them since they don’t play Dean’s type of music, aside from the occasional song. But Dean’s dancing, mouthing along with the lyrics, exclaiming positivities. His enthusiasm is contagious, getting people around him more engaged. He even gets Steve dancing, which rarely happens. But then again, Steve's rarely standing here, preferring to watch from the bar.</p>
<p>Steve's relationship with Jane makes Sam uncomfortable. He keeps remembering Steve saying he doesn't like girls that way, and Jane's all over Steve. It's making Sam's skin feel too tight.</p>
<p>Once the band has finished playing and is disassembling their setup with the help of a few employees, Sam drags Dean off to the band’s table.</p>
<p>“Phew. Fuck, man, I get why you’re a groupie to them. They’re fucking tight!” Dean exclaims with a grin. They sit down, order their drinks from the waitress that Dean somehow has managed to learn the name of already. Sam’s still struggling with the names of people he isn’t actively hanging out with. Then Dean hooks an arm around Sam’s neck and pulls his head down close. “So, are you and Nick fucking, or what?” Dean smiles but the tone of his voice almost sounds like a threat.</p>
<p>“What? No! N-no. I mean, I, I, I want to. I’m in love with him,” Sam answers honestly. It’s not like he can hide it.</p>
<p>“In love, huh?” Dean’s grip loosens so Sam can straighten up a bit, but his arm remains rested around Sam’s neck. “Don’t you think he’s too old for ya?”</p>
<p>Sam rolls his eyes. “He’s not too old,” Sam answers dryly.</p>
<p>“Yeahuh.”</p>
<p>Sam smiles. “Look. So get this, Nick asked me if I was serious about him, which I am. He said that in that case, he wanted us to get to know each other really well before anything could happen. And, and, we’ve both got issues. And he wanted us to work on them first.”</p>
<p>“The dude’s got issues alright,” Dean mutters. “And Mike? He’s your ex?”</p>
<p>“Yes, no, yes. It was casual. I broke it off because he wouldn’t put out. I’m shallow,” Sam states, not wanting to go into details.</p>
<p>Dean throws his head back laughing. “Yeah, no, I ain’t buying that for a minute. There’s no way in hell you coulda changed that much. You ain’t shallow. Nu-uh.”</p>
<p>Sam drags a hand through his hair and throws a look back to see the others slowly making their way from the bar to join them. “Okay, okay, look. Mike’s my best friend, right? Like, I can really talk to him, right? Steve’s my other best friend but he’s a no chick-flick moment kind of guy. And, and, Mike and I never got past third base. I’m new to all this, right? Having friends. Dating. That kind of stuff. And Mike didn’t want to ruin our friendship with sex.”</p>
<p>Dean sucks on his lower lip, sharp eyes weighing Sam for a beat, then he smiles, eyes losing that sharp gleam. “Alright. I can get that.”</p>
<p>“You can?” Sam’s still trying to understand that bit himself. But then again, Mike’s steadfastly there for him, while Brady’s still very careful around him, so it’s starting to make sense.</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course. Sex fucks things up,” Dean says easily, then directs a big grin at the gang coming to join them, making some joke about Andy’s lack of basketball prowess, instantly smoothing it over by saying Ennis made them all look like fools. Sam wonders about it. Steve had told him Dean showed up at the Anchor after Sam left, and that they’d hung out. But the way Dean talks to everyone it’s like they’ve known each other for far longer. Sam looks at Dean and sees Dean’s eyes going sharp again. He follows Dean’s gaze to see it locked on Jane’s hand wrapped around Steve’s wrist as they squeeze by to sit down. Then Dean turns his head to look towards the bar with a small frown. Sam looks too, to see what Dean’s looking at. Over at the bar, Jane’s friend remains sitting with a sulky frown, stirring her drink with the straw. Sam knows the gaze on Dean’s face very well. It’s the same sharp look he has when he leaned over a car engine to figure out what’s wrong with it. Or that one time when he’d dismantled the motel room radio and laid out all the parts before he assembled it again. Sam just doesn’t understand why Dean’s got that expression now.</p>
<p>It’s just a few seconds before it’s gone, smoothed back into a jolly vacancy as Dean once again turns his head to crack a joke. The waitress comes with Sam and Dean’s drinks. As Dean takes up his wallet to pay, he calls her by her name, Monica, and asks her how her audition went and if Joey’s better. Sam’s got no idea who Joey is, but gathers from the conversation that it’s Monica’s son, and he has pneumonia but is finally getting treatment. Monica leaves, telling Dean their drinks are on her, and gives him a wink.</p>
<p>“How do you know her?” Sam asks when Dean’s attention is on him again.</p>
<p>“Huh? Oh, I stopped by for a beer earlier this week. I’m new in town and I was bored. Cheers,” he says and holds up his drink.</p>
<p>Sam clinks their glasses then hesitates before taking a drink. The cocktails Dean ordered for them look way too leafy. He takes a careful sip. “Mmm! What is this?”</p>
<p>“Mojito, babey,” Dean purrs. “Perfect for hot climate states. What’s your usual poison?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Um, I like tequila?” It’s so stupid. Sam’s nervous. He’s slowly, piece by piece figuring out what his preferences are, and now he’s worried Dean will invalidate them.</p>
<p>“Yeah? Then I guess we’ll switch it to Palomas and Margaritas next, huh?” Dean answers with a smirk and a wink.</p>
<p>The band has finally put away their gear and comes to join them. Dean slides up from his seat to meet them, grinning broadly, extending his hand to Mike who’s first. “Fuck me, but you’ve got some pipes on you! You’re fucking awesome, man. I wasn’t prepared. I’ve seen a lot of live performances but you were fucking slayin’ it,” he says, pulling Mike closer to clap his other hand to Mike’s shoulder and grip.</p>
<p>Mike grins and blushes with a downcast gaze. “Th-thanks.”</p>
<p>“Nah, man, it’s me who should be thankful. You’re one helluva entertainer. They don’t charge nearly enough to see you,” Dean says, letting go of Mike and leaning to the side to lock gaze with Nick who’s stopped behind Mike. “And you. Your solos on ‘Change your mind’? <em>Awesome</em>. I was feeling it down to my toes.”</p>
<p>Mike’s still smiling as he slides onto the bench opposite Sam to sit beside Alex. He gives her a brief kiss, puts his arm around her, and looks back at Dean.</p>
<p>Nick smirks. “Oh, I could tell,” he purrs, almost leeringly. Sam feels a sting of jealousy and tries not to show it. But Nick sits down beside Mike and winks at Sam and everything’s fine again.</p>
<p>“Gabe! <em>My man!</em> Damn, you’re fucking rock-solid!” Dean once again holds out his hand to shake, clapping a hand to Gabe’s shoulder like he hadn’t done to Nick, and launches into a gush about ghost notes and subtlety and a specific use of the crash, ride, and bass. Sam’s definitely not following but Gabe grows several inches from the praise, beaming at Dean. Dean snatches an unguarded chair from the table next to theirs and pulls it to the short end of the table, then sits down beside Sam again, gesturing for Gabe to sit on the newly acquired chair next to him, all without losing breath. Dean turns to gesture at Nick and Mike, saying, “You guys are great, but without Gabe, you wouldn’t be half as good. He’s got your backs perfectly. Y’all play fucking <em>tight</em> together.” To Gabe, he says, “If you claim Bonham and Copeland aren’t your main inspirations, I’m gonna call you out as a liar.”</p>
<p>Monica comes to deliver the band’s drinks while Gabe answers that, yes, Copeland and Bonham is indeed his inspiration, and brings up some favorite solo that Dean apparently knows and counters with one of his own.</p>
<p>Sam had <em>no idea</em> Dean could geek out over music this way. He’s definitely never heard anyone gush about drums before. Drums are just the background of a song, after all.</p>
<p>“Dean,” Mike says, getting his attention. “D-d-do you puh-puh-play?” he asks, smile instantly freezing into something horror-struck.</p>
<p>Nick, Gabe, and Sam all stare at him. Mike only stutters if he’s under emotional distress. Sam’s instantly worried for him.</p>
<p>“Drums, you mean?” Dean asks and runs a hand through his hair. Mike nods. Dean chuckles sheepishly. “Nah. Not really. If there’s an unguarded drumset around and I won’t get chased away, I’m gonna bang on it, if you feel me? But.” Dean looks embarrassed. “Sam told you we moved around a lot, right?” he asks and looks around for confirmation, making Sam aware Dean holds the attention of most people at the table. Brady and Mike both give a nod of confirmation. “Yeah, so,” Dean goes on, “drums were out of the question. It had to fit in a bag and be easily moved around. Hell, if we stayed three months in one place, that was a long time, right? So, yeah, never really had the chance to get as good as you guys.”</p>
<p>“A g-g― guitar is porta<em>buh</em>―” Mike’s turning scarlet. Sam’s alarmed for real. He wants to ask Mike what’s happened but he can’t do that in front of everyone.</p>
<p>“Portable?” Dean finishes the question for him. “Yeah. I had one for a while.”</p>
<p><em>That</em> makes Sam react. “You did? I don’t remember that.”</p>
<p>“How the hell could you forget that, Sammy? I was always― You know what? It doesn’t matter. I had it for a while and then I didn’t.” Dean plasters on a smile and turns his attention to the band. “So how long have you been playing together?” he asks, smiling at Nick, taking Mike and Gabe into the question with a sweep of his gaze.</p>
<p>But Sam leans back with his drink, distracted. He tries to remember if Dean had a guitar. He has to think really hard about it. It’s like forcing a wall.</p>
<p>‘<em>Dean, you’re bleeding!</em>’</p>
<p>‘<em>It’s okay, squirt. Sometimes you have to play through the pain. Just leave me alone.</em>’</p>
<p>The hazy memory is like a bleached photograph, faded through time in the sun. Old. Fractured. Dean sitting on his bed with an oversized guitar on his lap, playing until his fingers bled. The guitar had stickers on it. Dean had let Sam put on more stickers, then stuck a songbook in Sam’s hands to make him leave Dean alone. That’s how Sam started reading lyrics like poetry. He never stopped, because those songbooks kept popping up wherever they moved. Always had, and he never questioned it. But the guitar disappeared… Where did it go?</p>
<p>Trying to remember that, he hits a major roadblock.</p>
<p>“It was black and had band stickers on it. You let me put Barney, and the fairly odd parents-stickers on it,” Sam says quietly.</p>
<p>Dean leans back from listening to something Ennis is saying and turns his attention to Sam. “See, you do remember,” he says, voice quiet and smile soft.</p>
<p>“What happened to it?”</p>
<p>Dean snorts. “You walked into moving traffic while I was supposed to be watching you, but didn’t, because I was playing. Dad beat the shit out of me and threw it in a dumpster. I don’t get how you can forget that. You cried for a fucking week about it. Then dad dumped me at Bobby’s for a while and everything was back to normal when I got home,” he says, leaning close with his voice lowered to keep the conversation private. Gabe, sitting closest to Dean, is watching them, but averts his gaze when Dean throws a look his way.</p>
<p>It triggers another memory. A truck horn blaring. Dean tackling him. Screaming angrily at him with panic in his eyes. It was a close call. If Dean hadn’t shown up…</p>
<p>Sam got away with scraped hands and knees. When Dad got home and asked about the scrapes, Sam had told him Dean saved him. Dean’s a hero, always was.</p>
<p>“Dad hit you?” Sam asks with a disconcerted frown.</p>
<p>Dean blinks at him as if he doesn’t understand the question, then bursts out laughing. He slaps Sam’s back twice and grins, shaking his head in disbelief, then turns back to smile at Ennis. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. Andy did what?” he asks, picking up where he’d left the conversation.</p><hr/>
<p>Mike tries to speak without stuttering, failing miserably. He <em>tries</em> to take his eyes off Dean, failing at that too. Over and over their eyes keep meeting, Mike’s breath getting caught in his throat every time. Ten minutes ago, Dean stretched out his legs under the table and bumped into both Nick and Mike. None of them pulled back and the contact burns like fire through the denim of Mike’s jeans.</p>
<p>Dean lifts his beer bottle to his mouth, tonguing it absentmindedly without drinking. He’s currently focusing on an embarrassing yoga story Lisa is telling. Dean drinks anything anyone orders for him, and chooses fresh, salt-rimmed drinks when he orders himself. The last order was placed by Andy, and that’s how they got blessed (or cursed) with a Corona bottle in Dean’s hand. Dean’s got an active mouth. If he isn’t talking or smiling, he’s chewing on a drink stirrer, playing with a toothpick, or mouthing at his glass. It’s like he isn’t even aware of doing it. And now it’s a bottle.</p>
<p>Mike definitely doesn’t need the view of Dean’s tongue playing with a phallus-like object. Dean laughs, makes a smart remark, takes a swig of his beer, and goes back to lipping the bottle, tongue repeatedly flicking the rim.</p>
<p>Gabe suddenly bursts out laughing. ”Holy shit. Every guy at this table who’s into guys is currently outing themselves marvelously,” he exclaims.</p>
<p>Mike flinches and catches Sam, Steve, and Brady hastily looking away from Dean. Sam comes as a surprise until Mike remembers what Sam’s said concerning his feelings for Dean. ‘Why is it wrong that I fantasize about him?’</p>
<p>“Oh, for fuck sake, Gabe,” Nick exclaims angrily―surprising Mike―and gestures across the table at Dean while scowling at Gabe, “he’s got lips made for cocksucking and he’s practically performing foreplay on that beer.”</p>
<p>Most of the girls giggle, some of the guys snigger, but Dean frowns at Nick, cheeks coloring. “Look, <em>Nicolai</em>,” he says, making Nick tense up, “I ain’t never been seated by the queer table before. If I’m doing something wrong, just tell me. No need to trash talk.”</p>
<p>Nick smiles mock-sweetly. “On the contrary, darlin’, you’re doing something very right or the miniature wouldn’t be laughing at us for enjoying the free show.”</p>
<p>“<em>Nick</em>,” Mike warns.</p>
<p>Nick isn’t listening. He’s busy smirking at Dean with a gaze laden with predatory promises Dean distinctly doesn’t want, and Mike doesn’t want Nick to make good on.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t say queer,” Angela tells Dean, breaking the deadlock. “It’s a slur.”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “Oh Christ, don’t start with the damn rhetorics,” he complains, then leans forward so he can look past Mike and Alex at Angela. “I’m sorry, Angie, dear, should he have said the fag, dyke, and shemale table? Would that suit your fragile senses better?”</p>
<p>“No! Of course not,” Angela frowns. “But it’s offensive to use slurs when talking about LGBT people.”</p>
<p>“So you’re an exclusionist now? What about the other letters?” Nick argues. Across from him, Dean’s sniggering, relaxing.</p>
<p>“I―” Angela tries to respond.</p>
<p>Nick doesn’t let her. “You know, like <em>Q</em>?” he purrs dangerously.</p>
<p>“I was just trying to―”</p>
<p>“Are you queer, Angela? You like to munch carpet once in a while, hmm? Or slip into a binder to be yourself? I <em>know</em> you’re not ace, because I’ve banged you like a drum and you were fucking begging for it.”</p>
<p>“Oh god, you’re such an asshole.”</p>
<p>“I know. <em>Everyone</em> knows that. But I’m not the one sitting here invalidating my identity. <em>You</em> are. So unless you, specifically, have been traumatized by being called queer, shut your fucking SJW mouth. I personally identify as queer so I don’t have to try to figure out my label anytime I hook up with an enby. And I’ve got news for you. Every fucking word for an identity that isn’t straight, is regularly used as a slur. What do you want us to do? Pretend we’re straight? Stop shoving it down your throat?” Once again Nick gestures over the table at Dean, who’s covering his mouth with his hand, eyes twinkling with amusement and shoulders jumping in silent laughter. “Dean here was politely telling us he didn’t know the rules of conduct for the present company, and you just had to jump onto a high horse about it. How the fuck should he know what words to use? Seeing as he hasn’t gone to the university and taken a master’s in, oh wait, fucking <em>queer studies</em>!”</p>
<p>“Oh, alright. But this isn’t the queer table just because you’re queer,” Angela snipes.</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face. “Isn’t it, though? Isn’t it? Sam, Mike, and I are all openly queer. Gabe and Alex have dabbled―”</p>
<p>“And me,” Lisa chimes in perkily.</p>
<p>“Really?” Brady asks and gets a bright nod in return.</p>
<p>“―and Lisa. That’s a pretty damn significant % of everyone here. And, knowing that, there’s a good chance we might have closet cases here, too, since they’d be drawn to us. So isn’t it, though? <em>Hmm?</em>”</p>
<p>Angela shakes her head. “I hate when you get like this. I’m gonna call it a night,” she says and leaves the table.</p>
<p>Dean removes his hand from his mouth, giggling, then breaks into unrestrained laughter. “<em>Maaan</em>.” He grins at Nick. “I mean, go off, I guess?” he jokes.</p>
<p>Nick grins back, mighty pleased with himself. “It’s all part of my charm.”</p>
<p>Dean cackles and holds out his hand to Nick for a low-five. Nick slaps his hand and winks at Sam.</p>
<p>Mike finds himself grinning along, melting a bit more at Dean’s reaction to one of Nick’s infamous rant-meltdowns.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you identify as queer,” Gabe says to Nick.</p>
<p>“Pffft. Who gives a damn about labels? I hate when Angela tries to police our speech. Who does she think we are? Tumblr?”</p>
<p>That sets Dean off laughing even harder. Mike laughs along, not getting the joke, but Nick’s giving Dean the first genuine smile all evening and Dean’s laugh is contagious.</p><hr/>
<p>Dean has the potential to be a bully. He makes that clear when a woman around Gabe’s age comes up to the table to smile at Nick. “Hi. Is this seat taken?” she asks, pointing at the part of the bench beside Nick.</p>
<p>It’s not wide enough for anyone to sit, but Nick smiles charmingly at her and answers, “Sure.” He scoots to the side, forcing Mike, Alex, and Christine to scoot inward. That dislodges the leg-contact Mike had with Dean, and Mike takes an instant disliking for the girl. Sam looks hurt and disappointed like he always does when Nick picks out a lay for the evening.</p>
<p>“Are you alright, honey?” Alex asks Mike.</p>
<p>Mike turns his head to his girlfriend. She’s giving him a compassionate look and a soft, worried smile. “I’m fine,” he smiles back, guilt eating at him. Alex is amazing. Soft and funny, functions well with his brothers (still), great in bed, works as a nurse at a veterinary clinic.</p>
<p>“Are you sure? You’ve been quiet all evening.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure. Don’t worry.” He gives her a brief peck on the lips, inwardly cringing at himself. He’s got this beautiful girl by his side and he can’t take his eyes off the guy across the table for long enough to appreciate it. He can’t stand the cheating, even if it’s only a thought-crime. He’s not made for deceit. He needs to break up with her. Not tonight. Tomorrow. Invite her out to a café and lay the truth on the table.</p>
<p>“Alright,” she answers and pats his leg, then lets her hand rest there as she turns to talk to Christine.</p>
<p>Mike’s gaze is drawn back to the woman under Nick’s arm. He tries not to glare. A look at Dean and their eyes meet, jolting Mike. Dean’s watching him, sipping his cocktail. His face is serious. He winks at Mike―so brief and discreet Mike’s not even sure it was a wink―then turns his attention to Nick’s new girl.</p>
<p>“Carrie, was it?” Dean smiles. “What do you do for a living?”</p>
<p>Nick’s girl, Carrie (Mike missed the introduction), smiles back brightly. “I’m an Instagram model.”</p>
<p>“Instagram model, huh? Impressive,” Dean says. “Me,” he puts a hand on his chest, “I’m a soldier on Call of Duty.”</p>
<p>Sam, Steve, and Ennis burst out laughing, Ennis hollering, “Ooh, <em>burn</em>!” At Mike’s side, Nick snorts a quickly suppressed laugh.</p>
<p>Carrie looks uncertain.</p>
<p>“Just kidding,” Dean says with a broad smile. But it’s the same kind of smile Nick has when he’s out to destroy someone. “So, Instagram model. You must make loads of cash, wearing fancy clothes like that... Or,” he quickly raises from his seat and leans over the table, diving at Carrie like a snake. He grabs something by her collar and sits back, “...maybe not,” he says, smile wide, eyes narrowed cruelly. Mike and Alex both lean forward to see what he did, and understand why Annie and Jane are laughing with the guys while Lisa and Gabe are pressing their hands over their mouths in scandalized amusement.</p>
<p>It’s the price tag.</p>
<p>“Maybe you should get out of here before someone spills a drink all over you so you won’t get a refund,” Dean says, expression downright mean now, tipping his glass from side to side precariously.</p>
<p>Carrie’s shocked, anger, and humiliation warring on her face. She gets up, stuffing the price tag back in her collar, spitting, “<em>Asshole</em>,” at Dean while she stalks by him.</p>
<p>“That’s my name, Sweetheart, don’t wear it out,” Dean counters while Sam’s smiling like the cat with the cream at Nick. Steve and Ennis are practically howling with laughter.</p>
<p>“O M G, you humiliated her,” Christine says, scowling at Dean. “That was so mean.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, it was meant to be. If you don’t know why, you’re not reading the room. So let’s just chalk it up to the bro code and leave it at that,” Dean answers, putting an arm behind Sam, then looking at Nick. “Dude, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t cockblock you. You wanna fuck her, you go after her now and give her a spiel about how you’re so sorry and we don’t understand her like you do and whatever, and she’ll let you smash her pussy. You’re just not gonna do it here, in front of us. You get what I’m sayin’?”</p>
<p>To Mike’s surprise, Nick answers, “Fair enough,” smiles at Sam, and slides to the empty seat Carrie vacated, not leaving enough room for anyone new to take her place. Mike and Alex scoot after him. Mike’s a bit jarred by Dean’s deliberate cruelty, startled by Sam’s vindictive enjoyment of it, and stunned at how the rest of the gang had played along. Mike’s been on the receiving end of bullies’ attention often enough to be terrified of it. There’s always one, taking the lead like Dean just did. Mike has conflicting feelings about it.</p>
<p>Soon thereafter, Dean stretches out his legs again, putting them back in contact with Mike and Nick, birthing butterflies in Mike’s belly. Mike’s gaze jumps to Dean’s. Dean tilts his head cutely, smiles with his tongue peeking out, and shrugs sheepishly.</p>
<p>Mike’s cheeks heat up, he shyly smiles back and lowers his gaze. Under the table, he pushes his leg forward, his calf firmly against Dean’s instead of their ankles.</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t pull back.</p><hr/>
<p>Dean’s not done showing off his character for the night.</p>
<p>They’re all pretty drunk by now. Thankfully, Alex has left because she has an early morning shift. It’s a relief, but it doesn’t lessen Mike’s guilt.</p>
<p>Getting drunk hasn’t lessened Mike’s stuttering one bit. It <em>has</em>, however, loosened his tongue, making him attempt conversing more, making a fool out of himself, attracting the attention of his brothers. Gabe’s figured him out, casting meaningful glances between him and Dean while sniggering. He hasn’t said anything yet. He doesn’t have to, since Mike’s such a clown even without his teasing. But, oh, it’s coming. Mike knows it.</p>
<p>Mike’s phone beeps. He picks it up to see a text. It’s from Nick. He looks at Nick sitting right beside him, but Nick’s engaged in a discussion with Dean and Gabe about the ultimate vehicle. Dean shares Nick’s enthusiasm for Harley Davidson motorcycles but also gets all fired up about Gabe’s beetle. Sam’s draped over Dean’s shoulders, looking between Nick and Dean with a dopey smile, declaring that 14% of motorcyclists die in an accident, and that you’re 27 times as likely to die in a motorcycle accident than in a car accident.</p>
<p>Mike reads the text.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Nick:</b> Did Dean threaten you?</tt>
</p>
<p>He frowns and taps out a response.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> No. What makes you think that?</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick’s phone buzzes. He takes it out of his pocket, reads the text holding the phone under the table, and gives Mike a dark side-eye before tapping his reply hitting send.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Nick:</b> Because the alternative is so infernally stupid it makes me want to haul you out the back and kick your ass. We’re going to have a chat about this later.</tt>
</p>
<p>Mike frowns sourly at Nick. At the other side of the table where Sam’s college friends sit, Lisa and Brady make out almost as much as they’re talking, Andy’s flirting with Christine, Annie and Ennis are trying to have a conversation with Steve. It's not going so well because Jane's straddling Steve, and they're making out as if their lives are depending on it.</p>
<p>Mike hasn’t paid any attention to what’s happening at that side of the table.</p>
<p>But Dean has.</p>
<p>Dean holds up his finger and says, “Excuse me for a second,” to Nick, Gabe, and Sam, then twists his whole body around, leaning over Sam he hooks an arm around Jane’s midriff. He rips her off Steve’s lap, pulls her across Sam’s lap, and places her on his own thighs.</p>
<p>Jane yelps in surprise and blinks uncomprehendingly at him.</p>
<p>“Alright, sweetheart, that’s enough,” Dean says, supporting her with an arm around her back. “I get that you want to get a good dicking by Steve, but it ain’t gonna happen right now. Time and place, you feel me? You’re pretty as hell and have a banging body, but Steve is trying to converse with his friends and ain’t into it right now.”</p>
<p>“Yes, he is. I could feel his boner,” Jane giggles.</p>
<p>Dean’s eyes darken and he gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Right. Of course. But he still ain’t gonna fuck you right now. And there’s another problem. You begged and nagged Nina to come here with you when she wanted to go out dancing instead. Now, Nina and Lisa have a feud going on, so Nina won’t sit with us. Instead, she’s been sitting by the bar waiting for you, getting increasingly drunk. If you look to the bar you can see there’s a 45-year-old sleazebag hanging all over her. When she’s too drunk to know better, he’s gonna bundle her into a cab, take her home and fuck her senseless whether she wants it or not. You’re being a shitty friend. So here’s what you’re gonna do. You go to the bar and whisk her away to go dancing as she wanted. Then maybe Steve will call later, maybe he won’t. But if you <em>don’t</em>, Steve’s never ever going to let you rub one out on his dick again. Capisce?”</p>
<p>Jane looks in the direction of the bar and makes a disgusted grimace. “Ew. He’s gross.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. Now go save your friend.” Dean pushes her off and shoos her off. She goes with a sweet ‘call me’ gestured at Steve.</p>
<p>“Damn, you’re so fucking bossy. You can’t decide that a guy can’t make out with his girlfriend,” Christine remarks, scowling at Dean. Mike makes note of Steve looking rather amused and pleased with what just happened.</p>
<p>“Hoo, boy, you’ve been on my case all. Who says she’s his girlfriend? All I’ve heard him call her is ‘skank’, ‘bitch’, ‘airhead’, ‘slut’, and ‘stupid bimbo’,” Dean counters.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that’s just Steve. He’s a sexist asshole.”</p>
<p>“Is he? Cuz I ain’t heard him call Annie or Lisa any slurs. What I did hear him say was ‘no’, ‘stop’, ‘cut it out’, repeatedly trying to dislodge Jane. The only reason I didn’t haul her ass out to bash her head against the wall for trying to rape my bro, is because I don’t know if he wants to keep fucking her in the future.”</p>
<p>Christine lets out a disgusted sigh and rolls her eyes. “Men can’t be raped.”</p>
<p>On Mike’s left, Nick sucks in a short breath, goes ramrod straight, red in the face, nostrils flaring, eyes blackening. Mike grabs Nick’s arm and squeezes hard to keep him from launching himself over Mike’s lap to physically harm Christine.</p>
<p>Across the table, Dean has the same reaction, cheeks reddening, eyes flashing darkly. “<em>Bullshit!</em> Get lost!” he says and gestures behind himself with a thumb without taking his eyes off her. “I’m not sharing a table with a fucking rape apologist. I shouldn’t have to explain consent to a fucking grown-ass woman. What the <em>hell</em>. No means no, <em>Susan</em>.”</p>
<p>“If you don’t want to sit with me, <em>you</em> leave,” Christine retorts.</p>
<p>Mike jostles her with his elbow and looks at her coldly. "Fuck off. <em>Leave</em>."</p>
<p>Nick leans forward to pin her with his gaze and snaps his fingers repeatedly. Christine might be drunk, but she sees the oncoming violence in Nick’s eyes, and finally registers that she doesn’t have any allies. Across from her Steve’s sniggering as if this all is prime entertainment. “Fine. You’re all crazy anyway. I don’t get why I hang out with you,” Christine says, grabs her purse, climbs over the back of the bench, and rounds the table giving it a wide berth to avoid being within reach of Nick or Gabe.</p>
<p>“Wow. I’m so mad I’m shaking,” Dean says and holds out his hand to demonstrate it trembling. He turns to Sam. “You’re not allowed to hang out with her. That’s some toxic bullshit I ain’t tolerating in your life. Understood?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay,” Sam answers dutifully, eyes wide and bewildered.</p>
<p>“Steve, you want to keep fucking Jane? Or should I keep her away from ya?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t want anything to do with that bitch. I just want to grab some brewskies and shoot shit with the gang, bro,” Steve answers, pleased as can be, and holds out his fist towards Dean.</p>
<p>“Then I’ve got your back, bro,” Dean says and bumps Steve’s fist. “Christine and Jane are both persona non gratas from now on.”</p>
<p>Annie and Mike speak at the same time. “Hu-have yuh-yuh-you―” Mike starts, but then gestures with a go ahead gesture towards Annie, a sinking feeling in his gut due to his damn stutter. At his side, Nick’s relaxing so Mike lets him go.</p>
<p>“Dean, I know it’s none of our business,” Annie says, “and it’s a very personal question so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But, um, have you ever been raped?” she asks.</p>
<p>“No.” Dean shakes his head. “But I’ve partied pretty hard and seen some bad shit go down. And it’s fucking lunacy to think I couldn’t be raped just because I have a penis. Look, I get groped on a weekly basis,” he says, relaxing, that entrancing smile finding its way onto his face again. “Dunno why, but women seem to think my ass is a free-for-all. And I’m lucky, because my mom didn’t hug me enough, so 80% of the time, I’m happy to be touched, period.”</p>
<p>“Your mom wasn’t very loving?” Andy asks with a concerned expression.</p>
<p>Dean grins. “Nah. She was very cold and distant,” he jokes.</p>
<p>“<em>Dean</em>,” Sam reprimands while Nick bursts out laughing. Some of the others also hide laughs behind their hands or look scandalized.</p>
<p>“<em>Oooh</em>, right. You’ve got the same mom as Sam. Sorry, I’m drunk and forgot,” Andy apologizes sheepishly.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Dean soothes, then looks back at Annie. “What I mean is, I’m a tactile person. When a woman grabs my ass as a way of saying hello, I’m gonna startle, but not go home feeling molested. I’ve been in sexual situations I wasn’t comfortable with, but I haven’t been raped,” he clarifies.</p>
<p>“What’s your definition of rape?” Gabe asks.</p>
<p>“That’s easy. If there’s no safe way to say no, it’s rape. So if you’re afraid of the consequences of saying no, or too out of it to know what you’re agreeing to, then it’s rape.” Dean nudges Gabe. “Speaking of, Nick said you’ve dabbled. What does that mean?” he deflects and grabs his drink to sip.</p>
<p>“I fooled around with a couple of guys to figure out if I was bi. Came to the conclusion that I wasn’t,” Gabe answers with a shrug.</p>
<p>Ennis sniggers. “Dude. I’m straight, and I sure as hell don’t need to suck a dick to know I’m not gay.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, there’s a difference,” Gabe counters. “I’ve grown up surrounded by queer people of all kinds. To me, that’s the normal. Nobody that mattered to me ever assumed my sexuality or tried to pressure me. Of course I’m gonna fumble a bit as a curious teen. I’m not repulsed by guys, but when push comes to shove, I’m not turned on by them either.”</p>
<p>The conversation moves on in that direction, and Mike’s left wondering if Dean’s telling the truth, or if he too was subjected to their father’s viles.</p>
<p>Nick leans on Mike’s shoulder and quietly says, “I’m taking your couch tonight. We’re going to talk.”</p>
<p>When the Anchor closes Dean stands outside, hugging Sam for a long time. Steve breaks them up, grabs Sam by the arm, cracks a joke and says something to Dean. Dean nods, answers, gives Steve a bro hug, then yells to Gabe, “Yo, Gabe! Can I crash on your couch?”</p>
<p>“You know it, Deano! I’ll go hail us a cab.”</p>
<p>Dean lets Sam and Steve go, gesturing for Sam to call him. He goes to grab Nick’s hand, pulling him in for a brief hug Nick reciprocates, exchanges a couple of words, then heads for Mike. “Mike, my man. Damn nice evening, but I felt we didn’t get to talk nearly enough. You wanna go out shoot some pool some day? Maybe grab lunch?”</p>
<p>It’s hard to tell if Dean intended to give another bro-hug or not, because Mike opens his arms without thought, and Dean steps right into the embrace, hugging back without hesitation. “Th-that wuh-would bh-bh-be nice,” Mike answers, mouth stuttering as badly as his heart.</p>
<p>“Awesome. I’ll be in touch,” Dean says and lets go. A warm hand hooks around Mike’s neck for a beat, a flash of a dazzling smile, and then he’s gone, off to bundle himself into a cab with Gabe.</p>
<p>Mike’s left with a racing heart, burning cheeks, and Nick watching him judgmentally.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There will be a few chapters with barely any Sam POV following this, but we'll get back to him. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. STEVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings:<br/>Mention of child abuse and involuntary manslaughter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>

<p></p><div class="center">
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  </p>
</div><p>"So... are you going to explain yourself?" Nick says with deceptive sweetness when they step inside Mike's apartment.</p>
<p>"Explain what?" Mike counters obstinately and goes to the kitchen to make them some Kool-Aid.</p>
<p>"Why you were eye-fucking Sam's brother so hard it'll be a miracle if he <em> didn't </em> become pregnant?" Nick persists.</p>
<p>Mike huffs in amusement despite himself. "I wasn't that bad, was I?" he asks as he pours the tropical punch powder into the jug with the sugar. He pours some hot water in and starts stirring.</p>
<p>"Worse. Much worse, Mikey," Nick says, takes two glasses out of the cupboard for them, gets some ice from the freezer, and goes to sit down by the table.</p>
<p>Mike wishes the ground would swallow him. It's mortifying to hear how big of a fool he's made of himself. "Fuck. Poor Alex. I'm such an asshole." The sugar has dissolved, so he runs the tap until the water is cold and fills up the jug.</p>
<p>"She'll live. Did you consider that Dean too could be a victim of sexual abuse?"</p>
<p>Mike makes a yikes-grimace and goes to sit down by the table. He pours the Kool-Aid in the glasses with a miserable expression. "Didn't want to think of that," he admits. "Do you think he is?"</p>
<p>Nick pulls his lower lip thoughtfully. "Honestly? No. Listening to his stories tonight... He was frequently dumped for weeks at their uncle's place while their dad took care of Sam. He went out partying, was at sleepovers. Their dad got him out of the house as much as he could when he was at home and left Dean in charge of Sam when he worked. On top of that, Dean reprimanded Sam several times for being overly affectionate. So I don't think he's the perp either. He's a whole other bag of trouble," he says and takes a sip of his drink, then grimaces at Mike's heavy use of sugar in the mix.</p>
<p>"He's the most gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on, Nick. He's charming, funny, exciting… He's exactly my type."</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “He’s <em>not</em> your type. You like stable, dependable, thoughtful people who are kind and gentle. When have you ever, <em>ever</em> gone for the bad boy? Or girl, for that matter?"</p>
<p>"He's flirting with me."</p>
<p>"He flirts with everyone. I'm not even sure he gets how it's perceived by us who swing both ways. I think he's straight. That's not the problem, Mike. He's manipulative, calculating, overbearing, and a liar. A con man. Did you notice how he got rid of Christine? He'd been baiting her all evening just waiting for her to slip up and say something he could use to turn us against her."</p>
<p>"Nick, you were about to punch her. Don't even try to deny it."</p>
<p>"That's not the point! Besides, she was fucking asking for it by stating men can't be raped while sitting at a table with a minimum of two male rape survivors," Nick snipes. "Don't change the topic. Dean spent all night asking her loaded questions to get her opinions, easy-balling and uplifting everyone else, then said things that made him look good and her like an ass. That was fucking deliberate, and you can't convince me otherwise. He's just met up with Sam, and he's already starting to decide who Sam can and can't be friends with."</p>
<p>"Well, maybe that's not so bad? Sam listens to him, and if he weeds out toxic people…? Just look at what he did for Steve. I’m ashamed <em>I</em> didn’t react.”</p>
<p>Nick looks away with a grumpy frown, takes a deep drink of the Kool-Aid. He looks back at Mike, scowling. "Fine. I'll give him cred for that. And he's got an excellent sense of humor. But we need to get him away from Sam. Next thing we know, he'll be forbidding Sam to see <em>us</em> and then what will we do?"</p>
<p>Mike's about to protest when a thought strikes him. "Holy shit, you're jealous," he states and covers his face with his hands, withholding a scream of frustration. "In-fucking-credible."</p>
<p>"I'm not jealous," Nick says a tad bit too quickly.</p>
<p>"Yes, you are. <em>That’s</em> the problem. I can't believe I didn't see it from the start. Dean's Sam's hero. You think you're entitled to the attention Sam pays Dean, so you want him out. Jesus, Nick. They’re <em>brothers</em>.”</p>
<p>"He's manipulative. Just look at us! He's already got us fighting."</p>
<p>"No. That’s a <em>you</em> problem. Nick. <em>Think.</em> Almost every time Sam tells us something good about his past, he starts by saying, 'Dean and I.' It doesn't matter if Dean's problematic. Even during your worst years, you managed to be the best influence in my life. Think about that. Because I believe I would've taken my own life if you hadn't been so stubbornly there for me. And you were. Even while doing heroin, committing crimes, and being madly in love with someone else, you were always there for me. Give. The guy. <em>A chance</em>.”</p>
<p>"What if he convinces Sam to go back to their dad?"</p>
<p>"Then it's a good thing we've got a crazy stalker with no sense of boundaries in the family, huh?" Mike jokes, lifts his glass, and swallows half of his drink.</p>
<p>"What if their dad comes here?"</p>
<p>Mike dries his mouth on the back of his forearm. "Then you'd better hunt down a good lawyer because I'll do to their dad the same thing I would if I got my hands on your uncle," he responds darkly.</p>
<p>Nick's lips twitch in brief amusement, then he crosses his arms over his chest with a sigh and leans back to stare at his glass for several long seconds. "So… You've got yourself a new crush, huh?"</p>
<p>Mike deflates, gliding halfway down his chair forlornly. "He's perfect."</p>
<p>"He's trouble."</p>
<p>"I guess the good ones always are."</p>
<p>That makes Nick snigger.</p>
<p>Mike sits up straight. "He asked me out for lunch or to shoot pool. What am I going to do? I can barely speak without stuttering so badly even I lose patience listening to me," he complains.</p>
<p>"The more you hang out with him, the less intimidating he'll be. Who knows? With enough exposure, you might start seeing him like I do."</p>
<p>"I sincerely doubt that."</p>
<p>Nick's eyes get that glint that tells Mike he's about to be a teasing little shit. "Oh, I don't know… Did you see those cocksucker-lips of his? And that ass. You just wanna―" He makes a firm grasping motion at hip height with both hands and lewdly rolls his hips with an expression of sexual pleasure. Mike launches a smack at him, but Nick dodges it, sniggering. "Karma's a bitch, isn't she, Mikey? You dated my crush for months, and now it's my turn," he teases with a nasty grin.</p>
<p>"You just said he was straight!" Mike protests.</p>
<p>"I know. But with enough alcohol in him…" Nick purrs and waggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>"Oh my god!"</p>
<p>This time when Mike launches, Nick scrambles off the chair, giggling, and lets himself be chased to the living room, where Mike finally manages to tackle him to the floor for a playful wrestling match.</p>
<p>Nick wouldn't actually take advantage of anyone that drunk. But the teasing must commence - it's the brotherly law.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"...Nah, bro, I don't think he'd do that. Seriously. Dean's cool as fuck. I'd be more worried that he'd tell your dad where you are," Steve says as they tumble out of the cab. They're discussing whether or not Dean would do a grab and run. "Dean's so fucking proud of you getting into college. There's no way he'd tear you away from it." Sam had followed Mike's advice and asked Steve not to leave him alone with Dean. Steve appears to have the biggest bro-crush on Dean, but it didn't stop him from hooking an arm around Sam's neck, saying, 'Sorry, bro, no can do. Promises were made. Sam and I need some bro-time alone,' when Dean had suggested that Sam go with him to Dean's motel after closing.</p>
<p>"Do you think he'll give Dad my phone number?" Sam asks.</p>
<p>"He promised not to, didn't he?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, but. I dunno. I just worry." They're walking across campus on unsteady legs. Steve seems to have decided that his promise entailed getting Sam safely home to his door. Sam's dragging his feet. He doesn't want to go home yet.</p>
<p>"Just chill. You gave him your phone number, and now all you can do is wait and see." Steve shrugs.</p>
<p>Sam sighs and sidesteps to sit down on a bench. "Steve… there's something I've wanted to ask you…"</p>
<p>"Uh-huh?" Steve answers with a dubious smirk, turning to face Sam.</p>
<p>"How do you feel about sex with girls? Like, are you repulsed? Do you get this crawling feeling in your skin? Nausea? Do you have to, I dunno, place yourself somewhere else? Like, like in your mind?"</p>
<p>Steve's lip pulls up skeptically on one side. "Bro, if that's the way you feel about banging girls, then you ain't bi."</p>
<p>Sam huffs a small chuckle. "No, no, that's, that's not what I meant. I was just thinking about what Dean did with Jane. I'm sorry I didn't interfere long before him. I just…" he trails off in search of words.</p>
<p>Steve sighs deeply, looks away for a beat, then back. "Are we having one of those <em>talks</em> right now?" he asks.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles at the pointed intonations. "Yeah. I guess."</p>
<p>Another deep sigh, then Steve comes to sit down on the bench beside Sam. "Fine. I like boobs. Boobs are pretty awesome. Like, <em>squeep, squeep,</em> flip flop, flap flap flap," he says, mimicking squishing them, smacking them together, and flapping them up and down unevenly. "They're fun. But I ain't gonna pop a boner for them, if you know what I mean?"</p>
<p>Sam laughs. "I haven't been with many women, but I'm pretty sure that if that's the way you play with boobs, neither will they."</p>
<p>Steve grins. "I know. But when I say, 'nice rack' to a chick walking by, often as not, I mean it." He turns serious and looks away. "I fucking hate eating girls out. It's gross. And it's not like they're dirty or anything, it's just…" He shudders.</p>
<p>"So why do you do it?"</p>
<p>"Reputation, man. Bragging rights."</p>
<p>"You never brag about licking pussy," Sam points out.</p>
<p>"Not my bragging rights, dumbo," Steve smirks. “<em>Hers</em>.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs harder.</p>
<p>Steve looks self-satisfied, sniggering. "There's gotta be something in it for them if they put up with all that verbal abuse to be with me. And it's hard for any fag-label to stick when girls go around talking about what a great lay I am. Especially when they enjoy an audience as much as Jane did when Dad walked in on us."</p>
<p>"He came into your room when you had sex?"</p>
<p>"Nah. Living room. I told Jane it was dumb to do it there when Dad was home, but she insisted anyway. It's not like he stopped and stared." Steve shakes his head and looks away. "First time I tried to have sex, I couldn't get it up. Almost started a rumor. She called me gay. I had to say I wasn't drunk enough to get it up for someone as ugly as her. Some guys in school found that shit funny and ran with it. They were fucking nasty to her, and I got off scot-free. I feel fucking bad for her, to be honest."</p>
<p>"How old were you?"</p>
<p>"Sixteen. Took a year until the next time I tried. It works. Friction is friction, or whatever. But I don't fucking like it. I don't―" Steve falls silent and looks at his feet, kicking with his toe on an old chewing gum stuck to the pavement. "I'm not… I'm not disgusted or get the creepy-crawlies, like you described. I usually fantasize about someone else while doing it. It's not like―" He makes another pause, briefly side-eyes Sam to see him looking, and goes back to paying attention to the gum. "I don't have to mentally brace for it like I have to if I know I've pissed off Dad, if you know what I mean? So it's fine. I'd rather bang a chick once in a while than be outed."</p>
<p>"That makes sense."</p>
<p>Steve straightens up and looks at Sam. "So what's giving you the creepy-crawlies? Sounded like you were describing something self-experienced."</p>
<p>Sam chuckles, feeling flustered, and runs a hand through his hair. "I guess. I dunno. Lately, when I've hooked up with strangers, I've been put off. But it's not consistent, right? It can come whenever and suddenly I just feel like, 'Eww, get off me!' and don't want anyone touching me ever again. It's really frustrating. And, and, like tonight. I'm actually really horny. But now that I live in the dorms, I can't bring anyone home. And, it's like, I only want to have sex with people I have strong feelings for. Like, if I still had my motel room, we could've gone there and fucked―"</p>
<p>"Whoa there. Time out," Steve leans forward and looks up at Sam, making a time-out gesture. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend, Samson. This is just for funsies, a'ight?"</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. "Yeah, no. The only one I want for a boyfriend is Nick. That's not the kind of feelings I'm talking about. What I mean is, <em>ugh</em>, I don't know what I mean."</p>
<p>"You mean, like, you want intimacy. For the sex to be more than a glorified jack-off?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I guess. But it doesn't have to be romantic."</p>
<p>"Okay. I get it."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but…" Sam strokes his hair behind an ear. It's too short and falls right back again. "I never used to feel this way. Sex was just something I did, not something that made me uncomfortable. But now, now it <em>does</em>. And, and, it's freaking me out. So instead of stopping, I've had this, I dunno, panicked urge to get back to normal, so I've hooked up with strangers to- to―"</p>
<p>“<em>Bro</em>.” Steve's serious look says it all.</p>
<p>"I know. And afterward, I feel disgusted, and, and, ashamed. And then I start thinking you and my other friends will want nothing to do with me if you knew, and―" Sam cuts off when Steve grabs his shoulder.</p>
<p>Steve's gone dead-serious. "Sam." He fists his other hand and taps his heart twice. "You're my bro. I'd be a shitty friend if I'd judge you for shit like that. Ain't looking down on you, okay? But that shit sounds serious, and if I were you, I'd seriously consider seeing a therapist or some shit like that. That's a problem I can't take a swing at. And don't get me wrong, you need to talk; I'll listen, even if you're freaking me out a little bit. But what you're telling me is fucked up, and you're making me worried."</p>
<p>Sam looks at his knee and scrapes at a small spot on his pants. "Yeah… me too."</p>
<p>"I can't pay for your therapy because Dad sees my bank statements, and he'd think I'm ratting on him. But you and me," Steve gestures between them, then taps his heart with his fist again. "Bros for life. However fucked up you might be."</p>
<p>Sam chuckles softly and smiles at Steve. "Thanks. I kinda needed to hear that."</p>
<p>They're silent for a while, Sam looking at the ground, Steve staring at the main building on campus with a thoughtful expression. Then Steve scrunches up his nose. "It's not Professor Callahan, is it?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I've been tryna figure out which Professor you're banging. It's not Professor Callahan, is it?"</p>
<p>Sam bursts out laughing, the heaviness of their talk dispelling. "<em>No!</em> He’s, like, 85! Can you even get it up at that age?" he laughs.</p>
<p>"My spam inbox keeps filling up with e-mails about blue and yellow pills meant to ensure you can," Steve grins.</p>
<p>Sam tries to picture the elderly (but renowned) Professor having sex and laughs even harder. "Holy shit! No, it's not him." He grins widely at Steve. "It's Professor Kelvin Marcus. You know who that is?"</p>
<p>“<em>Daamn</em>. Fuck, Sam, he's fucking hot. I get why you stepped into that trap. Fuck me. I didn't even consider he could swing our way."</p>
<p>"Well, he does," Sam responds, a faint glow of pride in his chest.</p>
<p>"I maintain you need to get rid of him somehow, but hell, at least he's easy on the eyes." Steve shakes his head and mutters a few more curses.</p>
<p>"Yeah…" Sam agrees. Another silence falls over them then, but this one is comfortable.</p>
<p>Steve breaks it after a minute. "I sort of envy you for having an older brother," he confesses. "Part of me would've loved to have someone growing up, as dedicated to me as Dean seems to be to you. But then I realize he'd have to live through the same shitty home-life as me, and then I'm grateful I don't."</p>
<p>"We need to pop champagne and celebrate the day you can finally cut ties with your dad," Sam decides.</p>
<p>"It's a deal." Steve holds up a fist, and Sam bumps it.</p>
<p>"Do you like my brother?" Sam asks, remembering Gabe laughing at everyone who'd been staring at Dean and his beer bottle.</p>
<p>"Sure, I do. Dean's awesome."</p>
<p>"No, no. Like, do you <em>like</em>-like him?”</p>
<p>"Oh." Steve huffs a little laugh and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. He shakes his head. "Dean's hot as fuck. If he wasn't your brother, I wouldn't say no if he asked to bend me over the nearest desk and fuck my brains out. But… no. Not the way I believe you mean. I ain't crushing on him or something like that. He just… he seems like a real bro, if you know what I mean?"</p>
<p>Sam's amused by how awkward the question appeared to make Steve. "If he wasn't my brother? You know I don't mind, right?"</p>
<p>Steve sniggers and shakes his head again. "Nah, man. I ain't touching that. If I seem like a swooning maid or whatever, it's more to do with how he's had my back. This week, we hung out, right? When we went out for beers with the guys, Dean and I stayed after the others went home. Then, this asshole picked a fight with me outside while I was waiting for Dean. I ain't backing from a fight, okay? I've told you, I give as good as I get. The guy took a swing at me, but I didn't get a chance to defend myself because Dean showed up, and, <em>bam</em>, K. fucking. O. Three fast, well-placed hits, and the guy was out like a light. Dean asked me if I was alright, and we left. But that, that's usually me. Nobody’s stepped up to fight <em>for</em> me before. Backed me up, sure. But not like that. So yeah, I like your brother. But not in a boyfriend-way, if you get me?"</p>
<p>"Huh." Sam swallows, suddenly ashamed. "I'm sorry I didn't help you when Nick―"</p>
<p>Steve cuffs him with a lopsided smirk. "Shut up, Sam. You can't fight worth shit. I'd probably worry more about you being in the way if you tried. You're the nicest guy ever to fucking everyone. I like that about you. I want you to keep being nice. Don't worry about it and let a dumb loser like me serve my purpose," he jokes.</p>
<p>"You're not a dumb loser."</p>
<p>Steve chuckles and looks at the sky. "You hear something repeated enough times, you start to believe it…"</p>
<hr/>
<p>If Gabe was a girl, Dean would be making marriage plans right about now. It's the third time he's opened the cupboards, freezer, and fridge just to marvel at how well-stocked the kitchenette is. And not only with snacks and cheap crap either, nor exclusively products with long expiration dates. No, no. This guy had fresh fruits and vegetables, dairy products, fish, meat, chicken, eggs, what looked like fucking hand made ravioli, home-baked bread. That's not even delving into the abundance of spices. Pure, fucking, porn.</p>
<p>If Dean had walked into a home this well-stocked as a kid, he might have cried.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. Imagine all the things I could cook from this!</em>
</p>
<p>Maybe this is the reason Sam grew like a damn beanstalk when he moved away from home? Real food. Instead of Dad's half-measures or Dean's desperate attempts of making mac &amp; cheese differently each day, shoplifting spices at random to see what would make things a bit better than just 'edible'.</p>
<p>Unless Gabe regularly hosts big dinner parties, a lot of this food will go to waste. There's only so much food a guy could eat in a day, after all.</p>
<p>Dean looks up at the loft where Gabe's still sleeping, feeling a sense of envious awe.</p>
<p>He reminds himself he was looking for coffee and goes back to the cupboard where he'd found it. Gabe had said that if he woke up before Gabe, he was welcome to make himself coffee and breakfast. Breakfast can wait, as always, but coffee is an imminent need.</p>
<p>He loads the coffeemaker, puts it on, and goes back to the couch. He's tempted to try out Gabe's electronic drum set, but while it won't bother the neighbors, it would undoubtedly wake Gabe.</p>
<p>Gabe's apartment is small. The kitchenette is big enough to comfortably cook in for someone who's used to crappy motel kitchenettes, but still small. Gabe's brother Nick had helped build the loft where Gabe sleeps. It barely leaves enough room between the mattress and the ceiling to pull your knees up, so Dean can't help but wonder how the hell Gabe manages to have sex up there if he pulls a chick.</p>
<p>On the other hand, below it there's a kitchen table with 4 chairs. There's a counter with two bar stools separating the living room area from the kitchenette, and there is a couch, an armchair facing a wall-mounted TV, and the drum set where a second armchair would've fitted. Basically, tiny or not, it has everything you need, including built-in wardrobes and cupboards along the walls.</p>
<p>Dean lays down, staring at the ceiling, listening to the brewing coffee's gurgling, and thinks about yesterday.</p>
<p>He's a bit disturbed by Sam's desperate urge not to give Dad his phone number. Sam appeared afraid.</p>
<p>
  <em>Since when is Sam afraid of Dad? Dad never laid a hand on Sam. I made fucking sure of it.</em>
</p>
<p>Anytime Sam broke something, Dean took the blame on purpose. Sam was tiny. One of Dad's cheek "pats" would send Dean flying across the room, for fuck sake. Sam would've been obliterated if that ire went his way.</p>
<p>
  <em>Whelp. I made a promise, so I'll keep it for now. Better figure out what the fuck actually happened before Sam ran away and keep my mouth shut until then.</em>
</p>
<p>He leaves the unsettling thought and tries to sort last evening's events, scrutinizing the dynamics he'd perceived. He has to work a bit more on Lisa, and definitely on Tilly, who wasn't present at the table, to ensure Christine stay gone from the group.</p>
<p>
  <em>If I could just get rid of Nick too…</em>
</p>
<p>That's a no-go. And if he's honest with himself, if Nick and Sam weren't into each other, he'd probably like Nick. The dude has excellent humor.</p>
<p>He's also fucking dangerous and hard to control.</p>
<p>Dean thinks about how Nick cornered him while he was washing his hands in the bathroom. Nick sidled up beside him, then slid a hand down to cup Dean's ass with a crooked smirk, meeting Dean's gaze in the mirror.</p>
<p>If it was just any rando at the bar, Dean would've swung at him at first touch. Except, he couldn't do that, or he'd risk alienating Gabe, Mike, Angela, and fuck, even Sam.</p>
<p>
  <em>"What's your game?" Dean asks, tensely regarding Nick through the mirror, heart racing, ready for a fight.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Just trying to figure out if this is part of the 80% you enjoy," Nick purrs.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean did tell them he liked unsolicited touches, so, yeah, that's true. But he's too worried about the knife Nick's undoubtedly carrying to gauge if it feels nice or not. "Oh yeah? That's none of your business." </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> "It could be," Nick says and shifts to stand behind Dean, putting his hands on the counter on either side of Dean boxing him in, still keeping eye-contact through the mirror, smirk almost playful.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"No, it can't. Sam's in love with you," Dean counters guardedly, tense but passive, putting his own hands beside the washbasin to support himself.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Nick's face loses its predatory expression and goes relaxed, content. He rests his cheek on Dean's shoulder, making himself a warm weight over Dean's back. "Sam's seventeen. I'd rather cut off my hands than touch a kid. No matter how much I want him." He smirks, a gleam back in his eyes. "You, on the other hand, are perfectly legal. So, instead of throwing fists, as we're bound to end up doing sooner or later, I think it would be much more fun to just fuck it out." </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Dean's too stunned to come up with a quick answer. This is unprecedented. The closest he'd ever been to being propositioned by a guy are dudes yelling obscenities about his 'cocksucking lips'. He fucking hates that.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nick straightens up and slides his hands to loosely grip Dean's hips, looking down to where they're barely touching. "If you're one of those conflating position with dominance, I'm a verse. I don't mind bottoming." He looks up to meet Dean's gaze again, smiling like a teasing little shit, raising his eyebrows.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>”No.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nick raises his hands in defeat and takes a long step back, still smiling. "As you wish." He turns and heads towards the exit.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>"Hey, Nick, does everyone know how old Sam is?" </em>
</p>
<p><em>Nick stops and turns to face Dean again, face serious now. "No. Sam accidentally let it slip when he was drinking with my brothers and me, and we haven't told anyone. But that's what led to Mike breaking up with him. Mike thought he was dating a 19-year old. He couldn't go on knowing the truth. </em>I’m<em> trash, not my brothers. And should you change your mind regarding my offer, just let me know," he says, then turns and leaves the restroom.</em></p>
<p>Thinking about it now, knowing Nick was being a little shit but had no intention of fighting or forcing himself on Dean, Dean tries to figure out if he liked the touch. It can't really be done in hindsight. But, he'll admit that the only thing that had truly bothered him at the time was the possibility of violence.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck these bisexual guys. I'm reading them all wrong.</em>
</p>
<p>Like Mike. Dean's a bit of an ass. He likes to challenge people discreetly. Establish himself as on top of the hierarchy in ways that mostly go unnoticed by most—good ol' manspreading, for instance. Just sprawl your legs all over the place and force people to withdraw when they come into contact with you. Girls are like anemones, pulling back at the slightest foot-graze, <em>unless</em> they are interested in you. Guys are another matter. They usually pull back too. Or they'll seek eye contact like Nick did, giving him an boss-ass-bitch smirk. Mike hadn't pulled back either. Except, <em>he</em> didn't wear a 'Come at me, bro!'-expression of any kind.</p>
<p>
  <em>He sure did stare a lot.</em>
</p>
<p>Dean can admit to himself that the foot-threesome they had going was nice.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m touch starved, so sue me.</em>
</p>
<p>But Mike was there, cuddling with his girlfriend.</p>
<p>
  <em>No way, he would've been flirting openly. I'm just confused and reading him wrong.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Or maybe I was the one staring? I couldn't figure out how somebody that shy could transform into a rock star. Of course, I was staring. Who wouldn't be, right? Plus, he looks like a damn virginal photo model. Just full of contradictions.</em>
</p>
<p>Thinking of Mike is giving him a headache unrelated to last night's drinking. He sighs and stares at the wall without really seeing it. Mostly, Sam's friends were alright, and the general dynamics didn't need much messing with. Nick's the only real problem.</p>
<p>Gabe's fucking awesome. Dean can't remember how long it was since he laughed as much as yesterday after they got here and continued drinking. He'd also found out more about the brothers. Gabe laughed his ass off when Dean was surprised Gabe, Mike, and Nick weren't related. It's nothing strange about it. Their mom could've fucked around with different men. Dean's seen siblings far less alike than Gabe and his brothers. Gabe told him they met in a home for boys and were very loyal and protective of each other. That made Dean classify Nick as even more dangerous. But Gabe also said they'd adopted Sam as their own, and if they turn out to be loyal and protective of Sammy, that's a good thing.</p>
<p>The future will tell.</p>
<p>Dean's phone buzzes. He fishes it out of his pocket and reads the notification preview. It's from Dad, asking how it's going. His belly is instantly in knots. He'll have to call later today and report in. He just needs to figure out what lies to tell first.</p>
<p>He gets up from the couch and goes to check if the coffee's done brewing. It is, so he pours himself a cup, finds sugar, then milk. He stirs while leaning on the counter, then takes his first blessed sip for the day.</p>
<p>There's a knock on the door.</p>
<p>He looks at Gabe, still sleeping with a hand dangling down between the side-slats of the bed frame. The knock comes again, more insistent this time, but Gabe doesn't stir. Yesterday Dean had asked if there was a specific time he had to be out in the morning, and Gabe said that no, he had nothing booked all day, so Dean was welcome to sleep in. Now Dean frowns.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe it’s a package or something?</em>
</p>
<p>He puts the coffee down and goes to open the door. It's not a package. Unless Gabe ordered a very upscale escort, that is. The woman is gorgeous. She's dressed in a red, armless blouse, a black pencil skirt, and red lipstick matching her blouse. She looks to be of Indian heritage. She's startled at first, then her eyes go cold, her face hard. Fuck her. Dean doesn't like her. "I need to speak with Gabe," she declares.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" Dean counters.</p>
<p>"That's none of your business."</p>
<p>"Whelp. Okay then," he answers and closes the door.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, she knocks again.</p>
<p>He opens and leans on the door frame, holding the door so he's blocking the whole opening. "Yes?"</p>
<p>"Let me in. I'm Gabe's girlfriend, and I need to speak with him," she says haughtily.</p>
<p>"Lady, I'm still not hearing a name," Dean counters.</p>
<p>"It's Kali."</p>
<p>"Okay, Kali, that's a no. You're not Gabe's girlfriend. Gabe and his real girlfriend Carmen are still asleep. I happen to know those two have dated for months," Dean makes up as he goes. "So you can piss off and call him during office hours, and maybe he'll choose to speak to you. Or not."</p>
<p>Kali stares at him coldly. "I don't have time for this nonsense," she says, then makes the mistake of trying to push him out of the way, calling out, "Gabe!" while looking over his shoulder into the apartment.</p>
<p>Dean shoves her with all force he can muster, propelling her into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. She slams the back of her head into it and staggers to the side, almost losing her balance. Her eyes are wide with shock as she lifts her head to finger the point where it impacted the wall. Her fingers come back red.</p>
<p>Kudos to her because she doesn't cry. Instead, her beautiful features go hard and cold, her eyes onyx burning with rage. "I'm calling the police."</p>
<p>"Go ahead. Whatcha gonna say? 'Hello, officer. I tried to commit a home invasion, and this bad man used force to stop me.' Yeah, good luck with that. You actually thought I'd let some rando in just because she claims to know Gabe? Nu-uh. For all I know, you might be here to rob him blind or assault or kill him. In fact, if I believe you pose a lethal threat to Gabe or me, I'm in my lawful right to shoot you. And, come to think of it, I'm pretty sure I saw a revolver in your hand," he muses and starts reaching towards the back of his jeans where he usually keeps his gun.</p>
<p><em>Now</em> Kali gets scared. Her eyes widen with fear. She turns around and runs towards the stairs.</p>
<p>Dean doesn't wait around. He closes and locks the door, then goes back to his coffee. He watches Gabe while he sips the hot beverage. Gabe still hasn't moved, soft, not quite snores still coming from the loft.</p>
<p><em>If</em> Kali is Gabe's girlfriend, Gabe will no doubt hear of this. Dean will have to make up some bullshit story about why he acted like he did. It's not a great obstacle. He's an accomplished liar. Lying was amped up to hard mode when he was eight, and Dad left him alone for the first time to be responsible for Sam for a full week while Dad worked. Fucking lunacy, giving an eight-year-old a 100 bucks to feed and care for himself and his four-year-old brother for seven fucking days. He’s still <em>shit</em> at handling money. But he's always been a problem-solver, so Sam hasn't had to learn how that hollow ache of starvation feels like at least. But since then, he's had to lie a lot. Explaining away bruises, bullshitting teachers and concerned adults, nosy neighbors, the occasional CPS worker, Dad, kids at school. The list goes on. As he got older, Dad taught him how to use a gun and trained him relentlessly in hand-to-hand combat. Handy skills Dad acquired in the military. Dad also taught him how to commit credit card fraud and to create passable fake IDs. How Dad learned that remains a mystery. Most importantly, giving a convincing reason as to why he hurled someone's girlfriend into a wall isn't very hard in comparison.</p>
<p>Gabe's phone, charging on the counter, silently lights up. Dean leans over it to see Kali's name on the caller ID. He stares at the phone until it stops ringing. 30 seconds later, it lights up again, this time from a text.</p>
<p>Dean picks it up and clicks on the text notification. He's prompted to unlock the phone. It's one of those modern ones like he himself got, warded by fingerprint. He frowns at it in dissatisfaction.</p>
<p>He looks up, sees Gabe's dangling hand.</p>
<p>Dean's always been a problem-solver.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"That's my phone," Gabe says, voice rough, hair sticking up whichever way as he lifts his head and blearily looks at Dean.</p>
<p>Dean's on the couch, drinking his second cup of coffee, scrolling through Gabe's communication with Kali. "Yup," Dean agrees, not taking his eyes off the screen. His pulse is racing in preparation for a fight, but it's not Gabe causing it; it's the texts he's reading. "This Kali bitch, she has to go. This is some Angel Street bullshit."</p>
<p>"That's. My. Phone," Gabe repeats, slow-growing anger in his voice.</p>
<p>Dean picks up his own phone from the seat beside him, unlocks it with his fingerprint, then tosses it up onto the bed. "There. That's mine. Have at it. We're even," he says and goes back to reading the venom Kali's been filling Gabe's head with.</p>
<p>Gabe frowns at him for a beat, then disappears out of view with some rustling. It goes quiet for a little while. "What do you mean, Angel Street?" he asks then.</p>
<p>"Old play by Patrick Hamilton. More commonly known as Gas Light. And this bitch Kali is gaslighting the hell out of you, Gabe. She's gotta go, or you'll end up hanging yourself from that damned bed of yours."</p>
<p>Gabe's quiet for another moment. Then he sniggers, "You've got dick pics on your phone?"</p>
<p>Dean smirks even if Gabe can't see it. "Yup. But I only send it to those who request it. The payout is usually nice pics of boobs or better, so it's worth it."</p>
<p>"I'm not finding any boob pics," Gabe answers.</p>
<p>"Of course not. If I lose my phone and get my dick blasted over the whole internet, it's one thing. But I ain't letting some asshole upload my girls for everyone to see. If they trust me with their boobs or pussy, I'll enjoy the view then delete."</p>
<p>Gabe makes a sound that might be approval. Then he sniggers. "You know, for someone who went hard on an Instagram model, you sure have a lot of photos that make it seem like you are one."</p>
<p>Dean grins and pokes his tongue out between his teeth cheekily. "It's all about the lighting, baby."</p>
<p>"No way you photograph this well all the time."</p>
<p>"Nope. I practice. Take about a million photos that I delete until I'm happy with what I get," Dean admits. He abandons the text convo to look at Gabe's pictures. “Oh <em>fuck</em>. You've got a food kink or something? These pics are pure porn."</p>
<p>"I photograph my works and upload them to the Bakery's Instagram before I send them off to the customers."</p>
<p>"What do you mean, your works?"</p>
<p>"I'm a food artist."</p>
<p>“You <em>made</em> these? Fuck me. I was en route to marry you solely from what I found in your fridge, but this?" Dean lets out an impressed whistle.</p>
<p>"You swing both ways?"</p>
<p>Dean chuckles. It seems like everyone is trying to figure his sexuality out. "Dunno. But if food like this hangs in the balance, all bets are off."</p>
<p>There are other photos too, of Nick and Mike or selfies with all three of them. There are also photos of Sam with the brothers. Lots of smiling in those pictures. Nothing indecent. A few pics of Sam snuggling with either Nick or Mike. There are pictures of people Dean doesn't know. A pic taken by someone else of Gabe dressed in chef's clothing, holding a framed diploma and trophy of some kind. Lots and lots of insane cakes, and very far down a bunch of gorgeous pictures of Kali. Dean scrolls up to the most recent pictures again. In one of them, a beautiful black woman is part of a group selfie with all the brothers. She's on a few other pics with Gabe, Mike, and Nick.</p>
<p>"Who's the black chick?" Dean asks.</p>
<p>"That's my sister, Ella."</p>
<p>"I thought you said y'all met in a home for boys?"</p>
<p>There's a rustle, and Gabe's head pops up over the edge. "Yes. Her parents and foster families were confused about her gender. Is that a problem for you?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. Is she a top or a bottom?" Dean deadpans.</p>
<p>Gabe laughs and disappears again. "I don't know. I think she's a lesbian, but I'm not sure. She lives a few hours away, but we visit each other fairly frequently." He pauses, then, "Is this Sam?"</p>
<p>Dean grins and puts down the phone. "Yeah. Cutest little shit, huh? The fucker refused to grow no matter how much he ate. Not that he ate much." He downloads those pictures of him and Sam from his cloud storage anytime he gets a new phone. No way he's gonna let old photos get lost again while moving. The oldest pics Dad took with a polaroid camera. The more recent ones are cell phone selfies, most of them.</p>
<p>"Damn, he was tiny. You seem close?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. Sam's probably already told you this, but we moved around a lot, and Dad took random jobs. Car mechanic if he could. Handyman. Groundskeeper. Trucker. When he drove trucks, he could be gone for up to a week. Then it was up to me to run ground service. You know, make sure Sam was fed, clean, did his homework, and got to school. So yeah, we got close. I fucking love that little shit. But he wasn't like other kids. Smart as a whip when it comes to book-learning, but fucking clueless about everything else. He lived in his own little bubble, barely aware of the rest of the world. Tell you the truth, I never, ever, thought there'd come a day when I'd be able to go out and have a beer with him and his friends."</p>
<p>"That's how Mike ended up in the system. His dad left them, and his mom was big on pills. He took care of his younger brother. So one day, while he was trying to iron clothes and make dinner for his little brother at the same time, his brother got into their mom's sleeping pills. Mike had the presence of mind to call 911 when he found his brother lifeless. He was six and his brother three at the time."</p>
<p>"Oh shit." Dean can imagine the horror if that had happened to him. "Jesus fuck. That's the ultimate nightmare. What happened to his brother?"</p>
<p>"Survived and quickly adopted. Mike's been searching for him ever since."</p>
<p>"Huh. And what's your story? You said y'all had been in foster care. How'd you end up there?"</p>
<p>Gabe's head pops up over the edge again. "My parents were fairly well off. Not rich by any means, but not poor. But they considered me an unwanted inconvenience. All our cupboards, fridge, and freezer had locks. They withheld food as a punishment. They were verbally abusive, often locking me into my room, and both of them hit me. I started setting traps for them in case they'd walk in on me while I slept. They used to do that. Yank me out of bed and beat me for whatever reason they saw fit. Dirty clothes, crayons put in the wrong order when I cleaned up, or anything I still can't make sense of. So I set traps that would at least wake me up and give me a chance to brace for it, even if the traps probably made it worse. I was seven when I set a trap inspired by Home Alone. A full paint bucket that swung down from the roof and clipped Dad right in the temple, crushed it, severed the temporal artery, and drove pieces of bone straight into his brain."</p>
<p>Dean's gaping. He can't help it. "You're shitting me?"</p>
<p>Gabe grins and shakes his head. He waggles his eyebrows. "Patricide. Beat that if you can." He waves his hand dismissively. "I didn't plan for it to be. According to Home Alone, it's perfectly safe."</p>
<p>Dean lets out a horrified giggle without his sayso.</p>
<p>"Anyway, that's my story. Ella and Nick are both victims of sexual abuse as well as neglect and violence. I can't really give you details. Nick will downplay it and say his uncle stuck his dick in Nick's mouth, and Nick bit him hard as he could when he was five. But it's never that easy. To start with, he wasn't thrown into the system until he was six."</p>
<p>"That's rough."</p>
<p>"Yeah, but we turned out alright."</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> sure did. But this bitch needs to go," Dean says and picks up Gabe's phone―now gone dark―and wags it at Gabe.</p>
<p>Gabe groans and rolls out of sight. "I know. My brain knows. But I love her. She's so hard to resist," he whines.</p>
<p>"Have you tried swinging a bucket from the ceiling? I've heard it's effective," Dean jokes. He only makes the joke because there are so many texts from Gabe telling Kali he wants nothing to do with her, begging her to leave him alone. Then Gabe made the mistake of trying to reason with her. Once they were talking, she wound him around her finger.</p>
<p>Gabe laughs. "If there was a way that didn't include jail time, maybe."</p>
<p>"Can't you ask Nick? He seems like the type of guy that could solve this."</p>
<p>"Nick can create drama for himself in an empty room. He's the kind you want by your side at the exact moment shit goes South. But he's not really the type you want to make up a plan unless Mike's there to tell him his ideas are bad. Together those two make up the best person I've ever known, but they've been busy looking after Sam."</p>
<p>Dean gets up and goes to the bed. He grabs the edge and heaves himself up to grin at Gabe. "Good thing you've got me now, then, huh? I'll fix it for you. All you need to do is let me bang on your drums for a bit and feed me a sandwich or something." He waggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>"You're not going to shoot her, are you?" Gabe asks with a troubled frown.</p>
<p>"Dude, no. What the hell gave you that idea?"</p>
<p>"I woke up when she knocked," Gabe admits.</p>
<p>Dean stares in surprised for a second, then sniggers. "And you still let me use your hand to unlock your phone?"</p>
<p>"Have you never feigned sleep to avoid conflict?"</p>
<p>Dean purses his lips in thought for a moment. "I might've. But generally, no." He heaves himself up with a grunt, and with some flopping, crawls himself onto the bed. There's a perfectly good ladder beside him, but where's the sport in that, right? Gabe shuffles to the side to make room for him. Dean lies down and flips onto his back. The ceiling is filled with glow-in-the-dark stars, and there are strings of fairy lights against the inner wall. "Huh. This is actually pretty damn cozy," he says and hands Gabe's phone back. "I imagined it more like trying to sleep under a car, but this is like a blanket fort. All you have to do is put up a curtain of some sort."</p>
<p>"Do you have a gun?" Gabe asks, honing back on the former topic, handing Dean Dean's phone back.</p>
<p>"Of course. Not on me right now, though. Why? You don't?"</p>
<p>"Nope." Gabe unlocks his phone and starts looking through it. "Did you do anything with my phone?" he asks.</p>
<p>"I responded to a few texts from Kali and added my phone number to your contacts. That's all," Dean says and unlocks his own phone to check if damage control is needed. "You?"</p>
<p>"Wasn't me," Gabe deadpans, reading the text convo Dean's had with Kali pretending to be Gabe. Dean hasn't written anything he'd consider wrong or bad. He'd only reinforced Gabe's own messages of not wanting anything to do with Kali, then using the info he got from old texts to undermine her attempts to guilt-trip Gabe.</p>
<p>Turns out, if you give your phone to Gabe for a few minutes, he can do a lot of damage. He's installed Instagram, written "Male Model" in the bio, and published several of Dean's selfies. He's randomly renamed contacts to miscellaneous words. The E-mail inbox is full of 'Thank you for your subscription to…', and there's a very disconcerting text sent to an unknown number. Dean quickly taps out a second text: <tt>Sorry. Gabe, a friend of mine, got hold of my phone. I did NOT send you that picture, and I apologize profusely that you had to see it.</tt></p>
<p>Dean would be mad, but he's giggling too hard. "<em>Maan</em>, this would be hilarious if you hadn't done it to me," he laughs. It <em>is</em> hilarious. "But real talk for a moment. Have you sent texts to anyone of my contacts and then deleted the convo? It's important. Some of my friends still get their phones monitored by parents who might kick their asses for a perceived wrong," he says, turning to look at Gabe. "I might deserve punishment for going through your phone, but my friend Emma, for instance, doesn't deserve another trip to the hospital for walking into a door, if you feel me?"</p>
<p>Gabe shakes his head. "No. I like you. I didn't do anything you can't find."</p>
<p>Dean gets a text and reads it. It's some automated text service sending daily Bible quotes. He giggles. "Oh no, this is horrible! How do I stop this?"</p>
<p>"I could tell you, but I won't," Gabe smirks.</p>
<p>Dean laughs.</p>
<p>"You're not mad?" Gabe asks.</p>
<p>"For this? Nah. Unless you sent my dick pic to a minor. You didn't, did you?"</p>
<p>"Ew. No!"</p>
<p>"So who did you send it to?"</p>
<p>"The person I could think of most likely to send one back. You know, two birds in one stone? He's sure to respond anyway, so you'll figure it out."</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. "Alright. Can I make us breakfast? I still got a mental boner from all that food of yours."</p>
<p>"Okay…" Gabe says apprehensively, perhaps expecting Dean to mess with the food in retaliation. He shouldn't worry. Dean doesn't fuck with food.</p>
<p>"Far out." Dean crawls himself to the ladder and climbs down.</p>
<p>He gets to work cooking, whistling contentedly. Gabe's watching him from above. After a while, Gabe says, "Kali's not that bad, really. She's an abuse victim too. It's not her fault she does these things."</p>
<p>"Nope. Not buying it. She ain't a 14-year-old girl lashing out. She looked older than you, so whatever crap she's gone through might explain <em>why</em> she's acting like she is, but it's not an excuse." Dean briefly takes the pan off the stove and turns off the heat, then goes to stand directly below Gabe. "Gabe, listen to me, man. I opened that door with no preconceived opinion. Within seconds she'd shown me disrespect and disdain, not knowing who I was to you. Then, after reading the things she's said to you through text? I'm not kidding, Gabe, that's pure poison. Whatever pity-card she once could play, she's burned long ago. She's actively choosing to be a bitch."</p>
<p>Fuck, but Gabe manages to rival Sammy with his sad puppy-eyes.</p>
<p>Gabe puts his hand through the slats and hands Dean his unlocked phone. "Can you respond? I can't do this on my own."</p>
<p>There are already seven new messages. "Sure, Bud. I've got you."</p>
<p>Dean's thriving. He can't help it. With Sam seemingly doing good without him, he's lost. Sometimes you just need someone to protect and take care of…</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's very important to me that you all know how problematic Dean's behavior was even though the outcome was good this time. Going through anyone's phone without permission, deciding who someone else can and can't see, that's crossing boundaries you're not allowed to cross. Someone said that Dean reads as a predator in the last chapter and that's good. Dean's got his heart in the right place and overall good intentions, but he's been raised by a predator and that's bound to influence him.<br/>There's a self-help book, Women who love too much, by Robin Norwood, that was put in my hands by my mom when I was trying to cope with and break free from a depression caused by growing up with an alcoholic dad, and dating an alcoholic man. (Highly recommend it if you're unhappy in your relationship and can't seem to ever date good partners.) One of the points she makes is that we know how to play both roles in an abusive relationship we're in, even when we're the victim. We rarely notice when we're the ones tipping over into abusive behavior. That kind of stuck with me because not long after I'd read that segment me and my boyfriend had a fight, and because I so recently had been made aware, I noticed myself slipping, saying things that were manipulative and destructive.<br/>I quickly disengaged and at that very moment I decided it was time to walk away. It wasn't who I wanted to be.<br/>Bottom line is, just like Nick, Dean's got a high risk of being abusive himself. He'll recognize it in others, but not necessarily see it in himself. How could he, when he knows his intentions are good?</p>
<p>Steve's another kind of beast. I've let mom inspire him a lot. She always looked to her parents and constantly decided to do the opposite of them. It went from getting beaten, falsely accused of smoking and promptly going out to buy cigarettes since she'd already been punished for a crime she didn't commit, to always explaining to us kids the 'why' of her rules and actions because the only explanation she ever got was 'Because I said so.' So I've let Steve look to his father as a guide of how not to be. Still, his dad's way of raising him has impacted him. We see it a lot in his rethorics - his frequent use of slurs. I profusely apologize to those of you who feel hurt by just reading his homophobic and racist slurs. It's part of his journey to wean him off it. Honestly, I cringe writing his slurs, words I'd never call another human being even when furious. Like him referring to one of his closest friends with the N-word, or using homophobic slurs about himself and Sam. But he's a genuinely good person underneath so I hope you'll to give him time to grow into the man he has the potential to be. We do and say a lot of dumb shit when we're young, mostly because of a lack of understanding. Our brains aren't even fully developed until we're around 25 years old.</p>
<p>Oh, btw, I randomly chose an actor for Steve long after the character was created. Nathaniel Buzolic was in Bloodlines along with Ennis and I know him almost solely from gifs. Yesterday I saw a clip with him from a Vampire Diaries panel and the dude's from Australia, so I got all confused by his accent. Like, "Whut? No!" X'D That did not line up with the voice in my head, <i>at all</i>.</p>
<p>Anyway, I'll stop talking now. Thank you so much for reading and commenting. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean finally manages to get Mike to hang out with him. Mike forgets to tell him it's a date but takes Nick's advice to heart to use his body language to flirt.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>- Possibly hard to read stuttering<br/>- not really any warnings to speak of in this chapter, I don't think.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://youtu.be/VWKxTNgoMq8?t=59">YouTube link to the song, starting from where Mike starts to sing.</a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A note about the stuttering. Sometimes stuttering won't go away as Mike's stuttering did. A stutter is not in any way a measure of someone's intelligence. It's common that cursing and singing remain unaffected, and also, I learned while doing research for this fic, common that a stutterer has a problem saying their own name. Now, Mikey's stutter is very tied to his early traumas and remains tied to his emotional state of mind. That's something that will remain for the rest of his life. But some people may stutter even when they're happy and confident so don't use Mikey as an absolute measurement for IRL stutterers. Also, Mike has a lot of tolerance for Dean when Dean gets impatient and puts words in his mouth, interrupting him. When Dean does that he's very rude without realizing it. Also, when speaking to a stutterer, never tell them to relax, slow down, take a breath, or whatever. It's not helpful. Keep eye contact and show you're listening like you would when someone talks normally.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p>It's already noon when Nick wakes up. He can smell the coffee and the pleasant remnants of steam from Mike's morning shower wafting out from the open bathroom door. He's got a crick in the neck from sleeping on the couch. Unlike Gabe, Mike's got a comfortable couch, but a whole night on it takes its toll. It's still better than paying a fortune in cab fare to get home while drunk.</p>
<p>He rises and heads for the bathroom, noting Mike isn't at home. He sits down on the toilet and digs up his phone to find a pleasant surprise.</p>
<p>It's not every day he gets unsolicited dick pics.</p>
<p>He sniggers at Dean's apology and taps out a reply.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Nu-uh-uh. No takebacks.</tt>
</p>
<p>He looks at the photo of Dean. It seems to be taken by someone else from below while Dean's leaning against a wall with a smirk and hooded come-hither eyes, and, most prominently in view; jeans unzipped and pulled down enough to show off an erection. Nick wonders if Dean's aware of how his open plaid shirt might be interpreted, considering its colors are purple, dark pink, and blue. Probably not.</p>
<p>He thinks this is the ideal dick pic to send to a girl. In his experience, if you ask a woman for boob pics, they want a selfie in return instead of a dick pic. Dean's pic includes both his face, bare chest, and dick. The best of all worlds.</p>
<p>Nick doesn't really get the whole outrage about dick pics. He thinks they're perfectly legitimate ways to proposition someone showing your wares straight off the bat. 'So this is what it looks like. You think it's something you'd like to suck on?' Most people disagree, so he rarely sends them unless someone else instigates.</p>
<p>He taps out another text.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> But now I wonder what kind of fun you and Gabe got up to if he's taking this kind of photos of you?</tt>
</p>
<p>He's curious what could've led Gabe to take a photo like that. Gabe doesn't have an aversion to the naked male body, but he is straight, and Nick thought Dean was too, even if he isn't sure.</p>
<p>Dean replies quickly.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> He didn’t take it. What you really should be asking is if I'm the kind of loser that would own a selfie stick and use it for a dick pic? The answer is yes. 😉</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick sniggers and looks at the photo again. Now he can see it's probably taken with a stick rather than by someone that's sitting down. Fair enough. The lighting in the picture is phenomenal, almost artistic. The photo of Sam that Steve took; sunburned, drunk, holding the outline of his dick through his shorts, was taken at a steeper angle and worthy of a Tumblr porn blog. This photo has Dean leaning his body not to angle the camera so much and looks more magazine-worthy, like if Cosmopolitan decided to do a porn shoot. Golden sidelight on his face and chest, but definitely a second, colder light on his dick to remove weird shadows, enhance color, and catch in the glint of precome on the top.</p>
<p>Nick thinks of the selfie Dean sent Mike and concludes that Dean's very aware of how he's perceived and plays into that. But he also isn't obsessively vain because yesterday, when Steve squeezed by Dean to go to the toilet, Steve had ruffled his hair. Aside from a good-natured protest, Dean hadn't bothered to fix the messy hairdo. Some people who obsessed over their looks would throw a hissy-fit if you messed with their hair.</p>
<p>A new text is incoming.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Gabe seemed to think you'd respond with a dick pic of your own if I hadn't told you that I didn't send the pic?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Now, now. Why would that be of any interest to you?</em>
</p>
<p>Curiously, Nick replies.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Most definitely. Are you disappointed you didn't get one? That can be rectified if you feel like a joint morning jerk-off. 😈🍆💦💦</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> 😅👀 Oh, um, well. I don’t know? I don’t even know your name.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick hums.</p>
<p>
  <em>You don't know? Do you perhaps fall under the 'Questioning’-Q in LGBTQIA+, Dean?</em>
</p>
<p>If that's the case, teasing both Dean and Mike will be so much more entertaining.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Gabe didn’t tell you? That's a delightful surprise. 😈 Do you want a pic or not? Just give me a few minutes to start the gears…</tt>
</p>
<p>If the answer is 'yes', Nick has no qualms about some sexting with Sam's brother.</p>
<p>Dean's a very fast texter, replying almost instantly.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Wait. Is this Nick?</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> This is Nick, isn’t it.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Yeah, no. Hard pass. What kind of asshole do you take me for? Sam's got a pathetically huge crush on you. No matter what I might think of that, I'd never hurt him that way. 😑</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. It's fair. Yet the troll in him can't help but respond:</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> He doesn’t have to know...😘</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean W:</b> Fuck off. Don’t be a piece of 💩</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick grins and puts his phone away. He finishes his business on the toilet, goes to fetch clean clothes and a towel in Mike's wardrobe, puts his phone on charge, then takes a shower. After the shower, he gets dressed, brushes his teeth, grabs his phone, and goes to get a cup of black coffee from the thermos Mike left for him, sitting down in the kitchen. He shoots off a message to Gabe.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> So Dean doesn’t keep his screen locked? Good to know.</tt>
</p>
<p>Gabe answers fairly quickly. It's always a gamble with him. Sometimes he didn't respond at all.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Gabe:</b> No, he does. But when I stirred to life this morning he was busy going through my phone, so I got him back.</tt>
</p>
<p>Instantly furious, Nick responds.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> He was what??? That's a huge breach of privacy! Tell him to fuck the hell off!!</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Gabe:</b> You don’t think I know that? Hell, he seems to know that too. But Kali stopped by this morning while I pretended to be asleep. She tried to force her way into the apartment and Dean hurled her into a wall and threatened to shoot her. She left, and when she started texting, he took my phone to respond to her. </tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Gabe:</b> When I asked for it back, he unlocked his own and threw it to me, saying that'd make us even. I couldn't resist a little mayhem, but in hindsight, I almost regret it. Look at what he did.</tt>
</p>
<p>Gabe sends Nick three screenshots of texting between Kali and Gabe.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Gabe:</b> That’s not me responding. It's all Dean. I've been handing him my phone all day to respond to her. He's been researching how to get a restraining order.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick reads the screenshots. Dean's been short, concise, and phrased things in a way that might go down well with people who speak legalese. No threats. Just a wall of rejection. 'I don't owe you money, I'm not in possession of anything that's yours, and I haven't made you any promises. You're emotionally and verbally abusive. I've told you repeatedly I don't want any contact with you. Stop harassing me. Don't contact me in any way.' When Kali insists she's changed, the answer is, 'Good for you. Then maybe you'll have better relationships with your future boyfriends. Stop contacting me.' Anything else is met by 'No.' or 'Stop contacting me.' No matter what she's said.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Is he still there? Can I call you?</tt>
</p>
<p>Instead of answering, Gabe calls. He's whispering. "He's still here, drumming with headphones. I'm in the bathroom."</p>
<p>Nick goes straight for the essential question: "How long has Kali been back?"</p>
<p>Gabe whines. "A couple of weeks. I was going to tell you, but you were busy worrying about Sam, and I'm tired of being seen as the pathetic loser who can't say no to my ex."</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. "That's not how we see you, you little twerp."</p>
<p>"Whatever. Dean steamrolled me in the Kali situation. I'm kinda grateful? I know how much of a toxic transgression it was for him to take my phone and deny her entrance without asking me first. I <em>know</em> that. I've had more therapy than all of you put together, remember? But here's the thing. He hasn't even turned 22 yet, and he sure as hell hasn't had any therapy. From what he's told me, thinking Sam's already told us, he's been a primary caregiver of Sam since Dean was 8, and their dad started leaving him responsible for Sam for full weeks at a time while their dad was off trucking. That whole 'I've got your back’-thing he's got going on? I think that's his fucking dad-mode. I don't think he knows how toxic he can be because of it. I don't want to be the one telling him either, because he's made a damn hobby out of the Kali thing, and I need all the help I can get."</p>
<p>Nick hums thoughtfully. He's still angry, but it's fading grudgingly. Gabe is hard to get close to, emotionally. He puts up a front of a jovial jokester who rarely takes his mask off. He's a lot more sensitive and vulnerable than the rest of them. It might not be a bad thing for him to make a 'parent’-friend. Especially not if that meant Dean will be relentlessly pranked.</p>
<p>Before he can answer, Gabe adds, "And another thing. I overheard a whispered conversation between Sam and Dean yesterday. About Dean's guitar? According to Dean, their dad threw it away and beat the shit out of him after he'd been distracted playing when he was supposed to watch Sam. When Sam was surprised that their dad had hit Dean, Dean looked at him as if he was foolish to ask. I bet their dad had a go at Dean on the regular."</p>
<p>Nick grimaces. "Well, fuck. It wouldn't be the first time a child molester singled out one child and bullied the other." He sighs and pulls at his lip thoughtfully. "Alright. Keep milking him for details of their past. Anything that can help us help Sam. And tell me of any other red flags Dean waves around."</p>
<p>"Will do. I have to go. Don't want him to think I hid away to talk to Kali. But in case you didn't notice it yesterday, Mike was drooling all over the place when looking at Dean."</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. "Oh, he's admitted that already."</p>
<p>"Let the teasing commence," Gabe says, tone carrying his shit-eating grin.</p>
<p>"Will do. Call me when you're alone again, okay? Love you. Bye."</p>
<p>Grumpily, Nick sips his coffee. Mike's right about one thing: Nick's jealous of Dean. Yesterday Sam was all starry-eyed, looking at his brother. Nick doesn't like that one bit. <em>However</em>, his gut-feeling had told him to watch out for the older Winchester. The man's a liar, calculating, and manipulative. Nick's not immune to his charm. Oh, no, not at all. The guy's funny and pretty as they come. But he could sense all of Dean's feelers poking at him, searching for cracks. He's certain beyond any doubt that if Dean could remove him from the group as he'd done with Christine and Carrie, he would.</p>
<p>Nick sips his coffee, entertaining himself by low-key resenting Dean.</p>
<p>He hears the lock turn in the apartment door, then Mike enters, hollering, "Yoohoo. Honey, I'm home!"</p>
<p>"Where were you? I expected breakfast in bed," Nick jokes.</p>
<p>"You're gonna have to settle for Chinese takeaway," Mike calls back. A moment later, he comes into the kitchen carrying a paper bag with Chinese food for the both of them. He sets the table, serves them each a can of Pepsi Max, but doesn't bother fetching cutlery. Nick resentfully takes the wooden chopsticks that came from the restaurant and opens his box. "I've just had coffee with Alex," Mike says as they start eating.</p>
<p>"And you're back so soon?" Nick asks, covering his mouth while he talks.</p>
<p>"Yeah, well, I broke up with her," Mike says and pokes at his noodles.</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>Mike gives him a dry look. "Don't ask stupid questions."</p>
<p>"Mikey, Dean's probably straight. The chances of something happening between you is what? 10, 20% at most?"</p>
<p>Mike smiles and shakes his head, giving Nick a warm look. "I'd say my chances are sub-zero, but I appreciate your optimism."</p>
<p>"He did say he's never been around queer people before. If you just keep your mouth shut and use your body language to flirt, who knows? He might be persuaded to dabble."</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and looks at his food. "Doubtfully."</p>
<p>"So what did Alex say?"</p>
<p>Mike sighs. "I told her the truth. Explained that I'm not cut out for deceit and can't date someone when I'm constantly thinking of someone else. She asked if Dean and I had done something already. I told her I think he's straight, so no. She was hurt, of course, but she thanked me for my honesty." He shrugs. "I feel like an asshole, but I'm also relieved. At some points yesterday, I felt like throwing up from guilt, but now I don't have to tote that burden, at least."</p>
<p>Nick makes a sound of disgust. "I don't know how you stand being such a morally upstanding citizen all the time. It's disgusting," he says, then gives Mike a lopsided smile and a small kick on the shin bone to signal he's joking. In reality, he envies Mike's ability to do the right thing.</p>
<p>On the other hand, he also envies Dean for getting to hurl Kali into a wall. So there's that.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <tt><b>Michael Novak:</b> Do you want to go out and shoot some pool tonight? There's a pool hall two blocks away from my apartment.</tt>
</p>
<p>Dean reads the text and then fist pumps. "Yuss! Fucking finally, Mikey," exclaims to himself. Getting the guy to hang out with him one-on-one has been like pulling a tooth. They've had private conversations, standing by the bar, and he's had lunch with Mike and Gabe together. Thing is, with people around, Mike clams up. He barely says a thing. Dean gets that it's the stuttering that does it. But when they've been talking at the bar, Mike's been forced to push through it. And Sam's said he talks to Mike about almost anything.</p>
<p>Something's going on with Sam. Dean might not have understood that if it wasn't for Steve. Steve gets worried because Sam's acting out of character. Which, <em>du-uh</em>, Dean can see <em>that</em> for himself. Sam's cocky, sassy, social, and rebellious (relatively speaking). Dean barely recognizes him. But that's not what Steve's talking about. No, no, that's normal to Steve. What worries Steve is that Sam's gotten more withdrawn, keeping himself locked in his dorm room, only letting himself be coaxed out during weekends. It sounds perfectly normal to Dean. That little book nerd is studying as usual. So what?</p>
<p>Brady, Sam's ex-roommate, agrees. But last Wednesday, Tilly let slip that she'd seen a paper with a big, red C on that Sam got back from a Professor. Dean was part of the collective gasp that caused.</p>
<p>Dean taps out a reply to Mike and sends it.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Of course, I do! Just tell me the address and time and I’ll be there.</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam says he talks about everything with Mike. That makes it really fucking important to speak with Mike.</p>
<p>Last week Dean had brought up Sam's odd behavior to Gabe. 'I think he's starting to process the trauma of the sexual abuse your dad put him through, now that he's safely away from it,' Gabe answered. Dean freaked the fuck out, slammed Gabe against a wall, and yelled at him that Dad would never touch Sam that way and that Sam's a fucking liar to make the claim. Terrified but earnest, Gabe asked, 'Then who was it?' At that point, Dean ran out on him.</p>
<p>He came back later after calming down. Finding the door unlocked, he stepped inside and triggered a trap that covered him with slime. By then, he wasn't angry anymore - he was guilty. So naturally, he set out to clean up the mess, proceeded to minutely clean the whole apartment, wash the doormat free from slime in the shower, fold clean laundry, iron what needed ironing, put everything into the wardrobe according to type and color, then make dinner, all while whistling to stave off panic. Gabe guardedly watched him from between the slats of his bedside. While Dean cooked, he sang self-soothingly―Heaven Beside You, by Alice in Chains―and Gabe finally emerged apprehensively. Dean said, 'I asked you a question, you answered honestly and earnestly without malice, and I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I'm sorry. Can we never speak of this again?'</p>
<p>Yeah, so, he and Gabe are cool again.</p>
<p>But the gnawing anxiety won't go away. There are people out there, awesome people like Gabe, who, honest to god, think Dad is some kind of monster. It's fucking Dean up. That's why he really needs to speak with Mike and figure out what Sam's said to make them believe such bullshit.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Heeey. Look at you, all snazzed up. I barely recognized you," Dean grins when he sees Mike waiting outside of the pool hall.</p>
<p>"Oh, eh. Sorry. K― came st-st-straight from-<em>mm</em> work," Mike flusters with a shy smile at the ground and smooths his hands down his suit jacket. "I wuh-was runn<em>nn</em>ing late, so I d-duh-d-didn't have time t― tuh-to change."</p>
<p>"You look awesome. Makes me feel like something the cat dragged in."</p>
<p>Mike looks up. "No, you look great," he deadpans. His eyes widen in surprise, and he looks down again, cheeks reddening as if he hadn't meant to say that.</p>
<p>
  <em>You think I'm cute, don't you?</em>
</p>
<p>His interactions with Mike make more sense through that lens. On the other hand, the guy could just be bashful with people he doesn't know well. Dean's the only recent outsider, so it would make sense. Dean's mistaken general, crippling shyness for infatuation before and managed to create unwanted drama. Still, it's a working theory, and Dean's got no idea what to do with that.</p>
<p>It's a bit funny because he thinks Mike is both hot and cute, but it's Nick that has made Dean question his sexuality. Not because Dean wants to do anything with that asshole, but because Nick's a fucking troll who'll have the occasional lewd text conversation with him, do an ass-grab while passing by, and repeat the offer to fuck it out. Dean's not dumb. He gets that Nick's doing it because he enjoys making Dean uncomfortable. But there's a note of sincerity behind the mischief, and that's forced Dean to think about these things.</p>
<p>He'd always presumed every guy looked at other guys thinking they're hot, and go on about their day without a second thought. But some carefully posed questions revealed that's not the case. At least not for Ennis and Andy, who he'd talked to. They'd seem to equal big muscles with something that made a guy attractive to girls. And that's… baffling. Like, there's this guy at Sam's college who muscle-wise is a fucking noodle. He's got mad, red curls, with freckles to match, dimples, the bluest fucking eyes behind black-framed glasses. He's cute as a button. He smiles a lot, makes cheeky remarks, and isn't mean. Girls are on him like flies on a turd. But Andy said, 'Ugh. I don't get what girls see in him.' And Dean had to bite his tongue not to go, 'You don't???'</p>
<p>So yeah. Maybe he isn't straight? Or perhaps he's like Gabe, perfectly capable to <em>see</em> what's hot about other guys, and not put off by them, but needing to 'dabble' to figure out that it doesn't go beyond that? His makeout with Peter six years ago doesn't count because he was too drunk. You can't hinge your identity on what you would or wouldn't do when your mind is altered by drugs or copious amounts of alcohol. Just like Nick's come-on in the restroom was too laden with hostility and therefore disqualified.</p>
<p>He's no coward. Had anyone else made a pass on him, he'd be up for a little dabbling. (Not Andy. Dean has standards, okay?) Except, nobody has. So he's stuck in confusion when dealing with a hot, adorable bisexual like Mike.</p>
<p>"Thanks, man. So, you're an office worker, huh? What exactly do you do?" Dean asks and puts his hand on Mike's shoulder to steer him into the pool hall.</p>
<p>"I'm an acc― ountant."</p>
<p>"An accountant? In that case, I should take care to keep you as a friend. I can't handle money for shit. If I've got money, I don't, if you get what I'm saying?" Dean grins.</p>
<p>Mike gives him a dubious look and shakes his head.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. "What I mean is, my budget is always all my assets at any given moment," he explains, then bursts out laughing at the sheer look of horror on Mike's face. "Yeah, I know, but. Hold on, let me just sign us in first." This is one of those big, well-organized pool halls where you get a number and wait for your turn if all the pool tables are taken. Which they are at the moment. He signs them in then hauls Mike off to the bar to wait. He orders them two beers, then sits down on a barstool and turns to Mike.</p>
<p>"I get why the concept of spending all your money at once is horrific for someone like you, who has a steady income from a reputable job, an apartment, and monthly bills," Dean says. "But what you have to understand is, Sam and I, we grew up dirt-poor and constantly on the move. That means that life is nothing but a succession of acute problems needing instant solutions. When I got older, I got better at knowing what to prioritize. Like today, filling up my car tank is my number one priority. That didn't even cross my mind as an eight-year-old when Dad first left me to care for myself and Sam for a week. So, yeah, I'm shit at handling money, but I've developed a whole range of talents to make up for it," he says with a smile and takes a sip of his beer.</p>
<p>“N<em>nn</em>none of <em>th</em> ―them llllllegal, I ass<em>sss</em>ume?” Mike says with a lopsided smirk.</p>
<p>Dean gasps in mock offense. "How dare. Does this look like the face of someone that would break the law?" he says, then smiles sweetly.</p>
<p>"Yes," Mike deadpans dryly.</p>
<p>Dean laughs and claps Mike between the shoulder blades, letting his hand linger there for a bit. "You got me. Not all my talents are legal. But to be honest, a lot of them are. I tried to avoid doing stuff that would put Sam at risk. If I got caught, he might be left for days without anyone taking care of him, and I couldn't risk that. He's practically been my number one priority since Dad stuck him in my arms and said, 'Take care of Sammy,' when I was four, and our mom died."</p>
<p>"Whu-what happ― ened?"</p>
<p>"I woke up from the fire alarm and Dad yelling Mom's name, so I ran to Dad. He was in Sam's nursery. It was ablaze, right? I could see mom lying on the rocking chair inside, and Dad was panicking. He stuck Sam in my arms, told me to go outside and take care of Sammy. I did, and he went back inside to try to save Mom. She was already dead when he hauled her out, with some nasty burns on half her body. What we think happened? Mom was a smoker, and Sam was fussy as hell as a baby. He'd scream all night through, and she'd barely slept for days. After she'd put Sam in his crib, she used to sit in the rocking chair and smoke a cigarette, waiting for him to fall asleep. We think she was the one to doze off, dropping her cig on the long-pile rug." Dean shrugs. "I can't be sure. The answers I've gotten from Dad are―" He holds up his hand and tips it from side to side in a so-and-so gesture. "But the house burned down, and we didn't have insurance. Dad was pretty messed up after that."</p>
<p>"I K― can imm-magine."</p>
<p>A table frees up, and their number is called. They grab their beers, go to pick their cues, and move to the pool table.</p>
<p>"Have yuh-you p― played before?" Mike asks.</p>
<p>"A coupla times. I'm not very good at it," Dean lies. Hustling pool has been his primary income the last year while searching for Sammy, but he figures that it's always a good idea to let someone else win if you want to get in their good graces.</p>
<p>Mike sets things up and breaks. He sinks a few decent shots, then it's Dean's turn. Dean decides to fail spectacularly and makes his shot jump and go wide without hitting anything, then laughs in embarrassment and rubs his neck. "Well, fuck. Guess I'm very out of practice, huh?"</p>
<p>Mike sniggers and moves the ball back. "I'll sss-show you," he says with a smirk. "Try again."</p>
<p>Dean lines himself up to retake the shot.</p>
<p>Mike steps in behind him and grabs his hips, lets go with one hand to reach out along Dean's arm to adjust his grip on the cue. He's giving Dean stuttered instruction that Dean barely registers with him leaned half-against Dean's back, smelling good, being warm and solid. Dean feels his cheeks getting hot and his heart racing. He knows what this is. He's done it to girls loads of times. This is flirting. Mike <em>is</em> flirting with him. Holy fucking shit.</p>
<p>Dean turns his head to find Mike's face right next to his with a crooked smirk and hooded, sharp eyes. Yup. Dean knows that gaze. It's confirmed. He giggles, flustered, uncertain.</p>
<p>Mike backs off, and Dean takes the shot. This time he actually hits something, but the shot is abysmally bad, and he didn't do it on purpose.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers and winks at him, looking smug.</p>
<p>"So where's Alex? I haven't seen her in a while," Dean says, trying to recover. Not that Dean cares whether his flirt is cheating on someone else or not. Not in general. As long as he can get away with it drama free. For all he knows, Mike might just be trolling him like Nick does. But Alex seemed to be part of the gang, and that means drama.</p>
<p>"Wuh-we b-b-<em>b</em> broke up," Mike answers and leans down to take his shot.</p>
<p>"Why?" Dean asks in surprise. He hadn't seen any indication that a breakup was on the table when he saw Mike and Alex together, but that was weeks ago. Mike turns his head to give him an unreadable look. Dean holds up his hands, leaning his cue in the hook of his elbow. "Gotcha. None of my business. Alright. So this weekend was your last gig at the Anchor. Are you booked into any other places?"</p>
<p>"Not yet. N-n-Nick's looking into it," Mike answers.</p>
<p>They keep talking through the game. By the second game, Dean's pretending he's got the hang on it, playing decently.</p>
<p>He's bent down to shoot when he feels something slide up the inside of his thigh. He yelps, accidentally fubbing the shot, and spins around.</p>
<p>Mike pulls his cue back, sniggering, eyes full of mischief.</p>
<p>"Sonnova bitch." Dean laughs incredulously. "Oh, it's on. It's so on," he grins.</p>
<p>For the rest of the game (that Dean still lets Mike win), they both sabotage each other with small pinches, nudges, and playful teasing. Dean had underestimated Mike's ability to be a little shit due to his apparent shyness, but he likes discovering this side. It might mean he may end up enjoying Mike's company as much as Gabe's.</p>
<p>"Duh-do you want to puh-puh-play another round, or go tuh-tuh-to <em>mmm</em>my place for a beer?" Mike asks before Dean starts setting up the game again.</p>
<p>Since he's asking, Dean guesses that's what Mike wants to do. "Yeah, sure. Losing gets old fast anyway," he says with a grin and a wink.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It is hard talking to Mike due to the stutter. Mike often cuts himself short or gives simplified answers with an expression like he wants to say more but gives up on talking. If making friends was Dean's only goal, that wouldn't be a problem. Dean can be a chatty-Cathy if needed. But Dean wants information out of the guy, and then the damn stammering is one helluva obstacle.</p>
<p>When they leave the pool hall, Dean attempts to get Mike talking, starting with something easy. "So you and Sam used to date, huh?"</p>
<p>"Yes. It wuh-wasn't mm-my int― ention, b-b-but it happened."</p>
<p>"What? You tripped and fell and landed on his penis?" Dean jokes dryly.</p>
<p>Mike huffs in amusement and shakes his head. "No. We'd been f<em>fff</em>friends for a while, and, one day, we went out d-d-drinking. Sssstarted by whhh-watching a sss- singer ssss-song whu-writer, then went tuh-to the pier, puh-puh-played whack-a-mole, had cotton candy, s-s-ssstuff like th- that. Drank mmm more tequila and walked along th- the dock. Wuh-we stopped. I sat on a b- b- <em>B</em> -ench and he leaned on the railing l-l-looking out on the sea. Then he ssss- said, ‘Th this fff- <em>fff</em>eels like a date.’ Drunk me answered, 'It could buh-be.'" Mike shrugs with an apologetic smile. "Sam's a good-looking guy. Wuh-wuh-we have <em>K</em>- chemistry. I'd been puh-perfectly huh-huh-happy with just buh-being <em>fff</em>-friends. But he sat d-d-down beside me and k-kissed me." Mike shrugs again. "It got huh― heated after that. The next m― morning, we talked. Duh-duh-decided it was casual. It wasn't."</p>
<p>"Everyone says Nick's crushing on Sam. Isn't it shitty to go after your brother's crush?" Dean probes, mostly out of curiosity.</p>
<p>Mike snorts contemptuously. "Nick's buh-been head over heels fff- for Sam since he fff-f-first lay eyes on him." He sniggers. "He even mmm missed a beat on River. Went like th- th- this." He mimics sweeping his gaze over the audience, eyes suddenly widening and snapping back to someone. Then he sniggers again and gives Dean an impish grin. "It wuh-was hilarious. B-buh- but he refused to tuh-talk to Sam. Sssshot duh-down any attempts from Sam's side. Wuh-wuh-was downright mean sometimes. K― claimed it was an age thing. But, <em>come on</em>. Sam said he wuh-was nineteen. Guy's in college, for fuck sake. Confident, knows wuh-wuh-what he wants. It would've buh-buh-been different if Sam was insecure and ssssshy." Mike shakes his head, looking annoyed. "If Nick huh-had b- been in a-K― active pursuit, I would n-n-never have tuh-touched Sam." Now Mike starts looking angry. "Yuh-you can't just k-k-claim a puh-person as yours and then not make a move. It's not right. People have feelings, and you shouldn't play with them."</p>
<p>Dean notes how Mike nearly doesn't stutter at all when he's angry.</p>
<p>Mike deflates. "But. Nick wuh-was right. Sam's seventeen, and I'm a <em>fucking</em> mmm-monster to huh-have dated him," he says in self-disgust.</p>
<p>"Hey, don't beat yourself up. There are good faith exceptions for a reason."</p>
<p>Mike waves a hand dismissively. "Whu-when Sam started huh-huh-hanging with us regularly, wuh-we noticed alarming s-s-s-signs that something's wrong―"</p>
<p>Dean interrupts him. "Hey, I don't know what Sam's told you, but―"</p>
<p>Mike turns to him and cuts him off, gaze serious and intense. "Nothing. He’s told us <em>nothing</em>.” He pauses to let that sink in, then points at the doorway behind him, expression smoothing out. "This is me."</p>
<p>Dean's thoughts are whirling as Mike opens the door and leads the way up the two flights. Dean has so many questions, so much he wants to know and refute, not knowing where to start. But then Mike unlocks his door and steps aside to let Dean in.</p>
<p>"T-take off your shoes, puh-please. I hate to vacuum, and I just did it," Mike says.</p>
<p>Dean kicks off his shoes and continues into the apartment. He stops just inside the living room, eyes going wide. "Whoa! Holy mother of―! Sonnova bitch! This is <em>awesome</em>!” He turns his head back to Mike, who's smiling uncertainly at him. "C-can I touch? Is there anything I can't touch?"</p>
<p>Mike hiccups a little giggle and makes a go-ahead gesture. "Feel free."</p>
<p>Dean wanders into the living room with a sense of awe. Grazing the fantasy and science fiction books in the bookcase, the backs of the CDs and vinyls, further in, to the piano. He lifts the lid, heart racing in excitement. He hesitates with his fingers over the keys to look for permission from Mike, getting an encouraging nod. Dean closes his eyes to remember, opens them again, and starts playing <em>Fûr Elise</em>, happy to note he hasn't forgotten the piece.</p>
<p>"Yuh-you puh-puh-play?" Mike asks, delighted, and comes to lean on the piano.</p>
<p>"Nah. Not really. I know this one and one more. At one school, playing an instrument was mandatory, and all the guitars were taken already. I had time to learn this one and one more before we moved. But chicks dig this one." Dean sits down and switches to the other song he knows, something by Chopin. "This one is useless. It won't get you laid."</p>
<p>“It <em>could</em>,” Mike says.</p>
<p>Dean's gaze jumps to Mike, takes in the meaningful look, and shies away from it. He smiles and shakes his head, looking at the piano keys, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Nah. I've tried. Girls aren't impressed." He stops playing and gets up, going to marvel at the sound system Mike's got―record player, CD player, tape deck, kickass speakers―then wanders over to drag a finger over the keyboard keys, berating himself for being flustered. "Well, hello, lay-deez," he purrs at the two acoustic guitars in stands at the end of the room. He crouches down in front of one of them. "Aren't you a beauty, sweetheart?" Again, he turns his head to seek permission. "Can I…?"</p>
<p>"Sure. I'll go get us b-b-beers."</p>
<p>Dean takes the guitar from the stand and goes to sit on the couch. She doesn't need much tuning before Dean can launch into playing 'Sweet Home Alabama'. It's like his soul draws a breath of relief, pure joy pouring through his veins to finally be playing again. He feels a bit self-conscious about singing in front of such an accomplished singer as Mike, so he doesn't. Instead, he mimes the lyrics.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike puts a beer in front of Dean and sits down on the other end of the couch, pulling a leg up under himself, turning to watch Dean play. His heart has been beating wildly to and fro all evening, but it's stuttering like mad since Dean sat by the piano and played Chopin's Nocturne no.2.</p>
<p>His crush is geeking out over his biggest interest. Mike doesn't know what to do with himself. Dean plays guitar well. He actually <em>knows</em> how to play. Mike hadn't expected that, considering how dismissive Dean had been on the subject. 'I used to have one then I didn't.' "Whu-whu-whu-where duh-did you lll- -learn tuh play?"</p>
<p>"Everywhere, man. Any chance I got. In school, in music stores, if my friends had a guitar, or someone's aunt, whatever. If I could get my hands on one, I've played. I'm nothing compared to y'all, but I was popular amongst my friends because I used to play at parties, barbecues, bonfires. Stuff like that. But I wasn't allowed to own one by Dad," Dean tells him, playing 'Heaven beside you' by Alice in Chains while he talks.</p>
<p>Mike's melting. Everything about Dean's perfect. He's so beautiful, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Duh-duh-duh―" Mike starts to ask, but Dean interrupts him.</p>
<p>"Are you faking your stutter?"</p>
<p>"Whu-whu-what?" Mike asks, taken aback, belly sinking.</p>
<p>"You don't stutter when you sing," Dean points out. He doesn't look accusing, only curious.</p>
<p>It feels like an accusation, making Mike ten times more nervous. "Duh-duh-du-differ― rent puh-puh-parts of the buh-buh-brain."</p>
<p>"Yeah? But when people talk about you, they make it sound like they've had these long, deep conversations with you. But you keep cutting yourself short, so I wonder if it's anything I do? Can I make it easier for you somehow?"</p>
<p>Mike makes a pained noise vaguely related to a laugh.</p>
<p>How the hell does he answer that?</p>
<p>Dean's gonna find out sooner or later. Gabe's been ribbing Mike hard, and Gabe hangs out with Dean a lot. He might say something for shits and giggles, and Mike's going to get humiliated.</p>
<p>Mike takes a swig from his beer to wet his dry mouth. Maybe he should simply rip the band-aid? At least then nobody has to see his humiliation.</p>
<p>His instincts tell him to go hide under the bed. Dean hadn't seemed to particularly mind Mike's brave but hopeless attempts at flirting but had pulled back, flustered when Mike had been too obvious.</p>
<p>Impulsively, Mike puts down his beer, gets up, and goes to grab his other guitar. He sits down on the stool he usually uses for his keyboard, now placed by the stereo. He doesn't dare sit close for this. He tunes the guitar and throws a look at Dean. Dean's stopped playing, watching him curiously, arms comfortably crossed, resting on the guitar.</p>
<p>Mike takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins to play, fingers dancing over the strings. He starts by singing to '<em>Oooh ooh ooh oooh</em>' part of the song―’Nervous', by Gavin James―to gather courage, before he jumps into the second part of the song.</p>
<p>"<a href="https://youtu.be/VWKxTNgoMq8?t=59"><em> 'Cause every time I saw you I got nervous<br/>Shivering and shaking at the knees<br/>And just like every song I haven't heard yet, no<br/>I didn't know the words in front of me In front of me<br/>Oh oh oh<br/>Oh, but I don't wanna know<br/>Who'll take you home<br/>Who'll take you home<br/>Who'll take you home </em></a>"</p>
<p>He stops playing and opens his eyes, terrified, filled with regrets for his foolish bravery.</p>
<p>Dean's biting his lip over a smile, eyes twinkling. "That's it? You took one look at this hot piece of ass and was struck speechless?" he chuckles.</p>
<p>Mike wishes the ground would swallow him. Mortification burning his cheeks like fire. He shrugs apologetically. "S-s-s-sorry."</p>
<p>"Nah, it's okay. It happens. I'm a fine piece of booty, I've been told," Dean chuckles. “Usually by <em>girls</em>, but whatever.”</p>
<p>It's not the booty. (Well, that too.) The more he's gotten to know Dean, the worse his crush has gotten. It's the whole package. Mike averts his gaze, feeling like dying.</p>
<p>"Would it help if we fucked?" Dean asks.</p>
<p>Mike's face snaps in Dean's direction so fast his neck hurts. "Whu-what?"</p>
<p>"Your stutter. Would it help if we had sex?" Dean clarifies.</p>
<p>
  <em> <b>WHAT???</b> </em>
</p>
<p>Mike hadn't seen this coming. His emotions are in complete turmoil. "Yuh-you're st-st-straight?" he manages to choke out.</p>
<p>"I don't know that," Dean says with a small shrug. "Look, man, I've always looked at other guys thinking they're hot or cute or whatever and haven't thought any more about it. It's never really been a thing I needed to consider because nobody's shown me they were interested in me that way. I've only been in two situations where I mighta considered it if they'd been repeated. But they weren't, so I didn't."</p>
<p>Mike's heart flutters with hope and panic. "What sit-sit-situations?"</p>
<p>"First time when I was sixteen. I met Peter, and we clicked like," Dean snaps his fingers. "He was a quarterback, and we became best friends. Did everything together, right? If I wasn't watching Sam, I was with Peter. He dated one of the hottest girls in school, partied a lot, and was popular as can be. Then Dad told me we were moving. I was fucking heartbroken about it. I didn't want to leave my best friend. That night there was a beach party, and I did what any reasonable sixteen-year-old would do: I tried to drink myself into oblivion," Dean jokes.</p>
<p>Mike huffs in amusement, slightly horrified.</p>
<p>"Anyway, Peter drove me home, and said that he had to do this because I was leaving, then he kissed me. I didn't see it coming. Not at all. But we made out until Dad came out of the motel and Peter spooked. I never saw him again."</p>
<p>“How l-l-l-long did yuh-yuh <em>mmm</em>maK-K―”</p>
<p>"How long we made out?"</p>
<p>Mike nods.</p>
<p>"Only, like 45 minutes or so."</p>
<p>Mike bursts out in nervous laughter. Dean's definitely not straight.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers, reading Mike's expression perfectly. "Oh, shaddap. I ain't gonna base my sexual identity on something I do when my mind is severely altered."</p>
<p>"Ffffair. A-and thh― the other sss- sss- situation?"</p>
<p>Dean bends his neck and chuckles, looking flustered. "Okay. Right. So this is one of those situations I mentioned where I was uncomfortable. I haven't told anyone about this before, okay? The whole thing was sorta coerced." He looks up to see Mike's concerned frown and chuckles again. "No, no. Not like that. I was very much a willing participant, okay? I just feared the possible backlash. If I'd known there'd be none, I might not have been uncomfortable."</p>
<p>Dean plays a quick little diddle on the guitar as if to gather courage before he goes on.</p>
<p>"Right. So. I think I have to set up the stage for you to get it. Sam wasn't like other kids. He was small, lived in his own little bubble, and was nice to everyone. He was slow. Couldn't pick up on social cues. Some things just passed him right by. And because of it, he was a bully magnet. Anytime we came to a new school, I'd try to as quickly as possible discourage anyone who tried to mess with him so he could be safe in his little bubble."</p>
<p>"Nick did that f-f-for me," Mike offers.</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Dean looks thoughtful for a beat, then nods. "Yeah, alright. I can picture that. I bet he did it the same way I did in the beginning. By kicking the bullies' asses," he chuckles.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers with a nod.</p>
<p>"Yeah, so, I had no problem kicking the asses of younger kids who tried to mess with my brother, but I realized pretty quickly that it wasn't the best way to go about it. A) younger kids had siblings my age, and B) fighting drew attention to our family that I didn't want. So I switched technique. When we started a new school, I'd drop Sam off at class, say a couple of nice things to his new classmates and establish him as the kid with the awesome older brother, and then I'd try to, as fast as possible, find out who were the cool kids who everyone admired and feared in school. When I'd figured that out, I'd attach myself to that group. Make them like me, introduce them to my little brother, and, <em>bam</em>, he was umbrellaed by their protection. It worked, because kids my age found him charming and cute, and I was now one of the popular kids people feared. I couldn't make friends <em>for</em> him, but I could keep bullies off his back."</p>
<p>Mike hums to show he's listening, nervous butterflies in his belly, still reeling from being propositioned, but at the same time fitting pieces together with what Sam's told him about his youth.</p>
<p>"So. I was 18. We were living in Texas at the time. At our school, there was this guy, Charles, from an oil family. Richer than god, privileged and entitled as fuck. Everyone feared him because he could make you fall from grace with a snap of his fingers. And sometimes he did, right? If you displeased him enough, you'd find yourself an outcast. At the time, I was part of the fringe of the core around him. I couldn't fit in with the true millionaires, but I could pretend to be wealthy enough. Like, I can fit in with kids who wear brand clothes, but not those who wear tailor-made stuff. You get what I mean?"</p>
<p>"Mhm."</p>
<p>"Good. But being on the fringe was a good thing. I was still one of the popular kids, got all the right invites, but didn't attract his attention and risk a fall from grace. But <em>then</em>.” Dean huffs another flustered laugh. "He comes up to me, right? And he goes, 'My girlfriend thinks you're hot.' And I freak the fuck out. I'm sure this is the end where I go from popular to target. I'm gonna be the cause of Sam being bullied, not his protection from it. I assure Charles that I've got no interest in her, but he keeps badgering me, asking if I don't think she's hot? Which, she was, right? A real bombshell. And I'm stuck wondering what answer is the right one. So, I say that, yeah, of course, she's hot. But I'd never ogle a bro's girlfriend. And he says, 'She wants to fuck you.' By now, I'm sweating like a pig, right? I'm thinking he's out to get me. But then he says, 'I want to watch you fuck her.'"</p>
<p>Dean laughs and shakes his head as if to himself.</p>
<p>"Man. It was fucking crazy. So, what he wanted to do, was jerk off watching me fuck her. And, and, I agreed. It was fucking awkward. I couldn't relax because I kept thinking this was a setup that would bite me in the ass. I end up asking him how much I was allowed to enjoy it. He says, 'as much as possible,' and I tell him to instruct me, so I don't overstep my bounds. And, he did."</p>
<p>Dean's blushing crimson by now. He meets Mike's gaze with an embarrassed smile. He goes on. "Katia, his girlfriend, was loving every minute of it. At first, he sat on the bed jerking off while dirty-talking her and instructing me, then he had her suck him off while I fucked her. At the time, I was too afraid of the possible consequences to consider whether or not I was turned on by him too, or just, I dunno, the combination of a hot girl and a stage high."</p>
<p>"S-s-stage high?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. You know, the rush you get when you perform? I've always liked being the center of attention, and, apparently, sex is no different. Anyway, those are my only brushes with anything close to gay. So, I reiterate my question. Do you want to fuck me, Mike?"</p>
<p>"Are yuh-yuh-you sure?"</p>
<p>"Did I stutter?" Dean deadpans with a smirk and a cheeky wink. He gently puts the guitar down on the floor beside the couch then looks at Mike again. "Look, I'm kinda a one-hit-wonder. I don't really do feelings and shit. Even if I do occasionally do repeat performances, chances are very low that sex will mess up a friendship for me." Dean holds up his hands, palms out. "It's not a principle or some dumb shit like that. It's just, I've been pulled up by the roots so many times I'm in a constant state of subconsciously bracing for heartache. Therefore it takes longer for me to fall in love. I can't promise feelings. I dunno if there's any difference when sleeping with a chick or a guy, but I always tell chicks this, so they don't get their hopes up or misjudge my affections. I figure I should tell you too, right? So. Yes or no?"</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh no. This is bad. I should say no straight off the bat, or this is going to get worse, and I'll be in for a world of hurt.</em>
</p>
<p>Thinking of the wise course of action is far easier than taking it. Swallowing dryly, Mike nods.</p>
<p>"Awesome," Dean says with a grin. "Okay, so, if I should suddenly stop, it's nothing to do with you. I like you, and you're both hot and cute. But I might stop if I figure out that guys, in general, don't do it for me. Is that alright?"</p>
<p>Mike nods again. His palms have started to sweat, making the guitar feel slippery in his grip.</p>
<p>Dean smirks, gets up, and swaggering approaches Mike. He stops in front of Mike, puts his thumb under Mike's chin to tilt his face up, then wets his lips and bends down for a kiss.</p>
<p>It's gentle at first, slightly open mouths slotting together, Dean's tongue touching Mike's lips, asking him to open up.</p>
<p>Mike's hands curl so hard he hears the guitar strings twang. His body feels like jelly, his belly is full of stranded fish flip-flopping desperately. He's dizzy with the unreality of what's happening. Dean's other hand cups his neck. His soft lips feel just as perfect as they look.</p>
<p>They kiss for several minutes, then Dean pulls back with a slight grimace.</p>
<p>"Are yuh-yuh-you un-K -comfortable?" Mike asks rushedly with a pang of disappointment.</p>
<p>"Yeah, a bit. Can we move to the couch? This angle is a killer for my back," Dean answers and points with his thumb over his shoulder at the couch.</p>
<p>A nervous giggle escapes Mike. "Y-yeah. Of course." He'd been too busy being caught between euphoria and trepidation to even consider that Dean stood hunched over. He stands up. "I'll j-just―" he holds up the guitar to show he means to put it away and motions for Dean to go sit down.</p>
<p>Dean goes to the couch, and Mike quickly goes to put both guitars back in their stands. He's nervous, bordering on panic. During normal circumstances, he'd be less anxious once they'd passed the first kiss. Not so now. The thrill is verging on crippling. He's never made it this far with a big crush before. Bela Talbot was married, and Charlie Bradbury a lesbian. Unattainable. But now, his crush is on his couch, waiting for him with a smirk and excitement in his eyes.</p>
<p>Mike shrugs out of his suit jacket, throws it on the stool, rubs his palms on his thighs to make them less sweaty, and goes to sit down. Dean doesn't waste time hooking his hand behind Mike's neck to pull him in for a kiss.</p>
<p>Every hair on Mike's body pricks, shivers running down his spine. Dean smells heavenly, and he isn't even wearing aftershave. It's just remnants of shower gel mixed with faint sweat from the day.</p>
<p>They kiss for minutes. Mike's hands rest against Dean's chest. Dean cups his cheek, scratches his neck gently with his other hand, soft and gentle in a way Mike hadn't expected from him.</p>
<p>"You're a damn fine kisser, Mike," Dean husks against his lips and goes back to kissing. More blessed minutes tick by, but Mike's crippled by nerves, unable to let his hands roam.</p>
<p>But then Dean moves, dragging his lips along Mike's jaw, pressing soft kisses along the way, sucks Mike's earlobe into his mouth, causing a giant shiver as his heavy breath tickles Mike's ear.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck.</em>”</p>
<p>Dean chuckles and takes soft, wet bites down Mike's throat. "You never stutter on a curse, do ya?"</p>
<p>"Another fucking part of the fucking brain," Mike grits out.</p>
<p>Dean bends his neck to snigger breathily in the bend of Mike's neck. He looks up at Mike with eyes sparkling with mirth. "In that case, babe, if this doesn't work, feel free to go full Captain Haddock in our future conversations."</p>
<p>Mike lets out a pained giggle, then Dean's kissing him again, tipping him to the side, laying him down with Dean on top. Finally, the nerves start losing their crippling grip on Mike. Dean undoes Mike's tie, unbuttons his dress shirt, and Mike pulls Dean's shirt over his head. Back at it, grinding and kissing, Mike lets his hands roam, loses himself in sensation instead of being shackled by it. Their breathing gets heavier, and they're starting to sweat. Mike can feel the warm hardness of Dean's erection press against him. "Let's take this to the bedroom," Mike urges.</p>
<p>"O-okay."</p>
<p>They get up, kissing and groping their way towards the bedroom. Pants get undone and fall to the floor. Mike reflects that he's about to find out exactly how alike two brothers are. Dean's kisses are nothing like Sam's. Grabbing Dean's erection through his underwear reveals that Dean's cock isn't as big as Sam's and has another shape. Unable to stop himself, he lets out a giggle at the absurdity of being with two brothers.</p>
<p>"What?" Dean asks.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, yes, that would go down well. Remark on their differences.</em>
</p>
<p>Mike giggles again, giddy. "N-nothing. J-just nervous."</p>
<p>“You <em>have</em> done this before, haven’t ya? Cuz I've got no idea what I'm doing," Dean sniggers, but, for the first time, he looks nervous.</p>
<p>Somehow, that's a relief. "Oh, I know what I'm doing, sweetheart. Don't you worry 'bout a thing," Mike purrs cockily and playfully shoves Dean hard enough to send him stumbling onto the bed with a yelp followed by laughter. Mike follows, removing both his and Dean's socks in the process, crawling over Dean to lay down. They make out. Mike kisses his way down Dean's body, spending a lot of time playing with Dean's nipples when he discovers how sensitive they are, making Dean gasp and squirm toward him. Mike looks up to figure out if it was a good or bad gasp, but Dean's hand pushing his head back gives him the answer.</p>
<p>Out on the couch, Dean had been confident and assertive. Now when Mike pulls first his own underwear off and then Dean's, he looks apprehensive. "Want to stop?" Mike asks. Dean shakes his head, and Mike bends to kiss the juncture between Dean's hip and leg. He kisses his way down until he can feel hot velvety skin against his cheek.</p>
<p>Dean huffs a breathy laugh. "Fuck, this is awkward."</p>
<p>Mike looks up. "Yuh-you want to stop?"</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>. Jeezus. I've never done this before. I'm practically a virgin all over again. I'm allowed to feel a bit awkward. Hell, I've never even had anal sex. You didn't feel awkward your first time?"</p>
<p>Mike sits up, straddling Dean's legs, smiling. He runs his fingertips over the planes of Dean's belly, feeling the skin prickle under his pads, then grips Dean's erection in one hand, stroking it and capturing the precome with a finger on his other hand. "No, actually. Of course, I was nervous. But I was too swept up in the elation of having sex to feel awkward about it. Maybe it's to make up for all my awkwardness before getting to that stage?" he says, grins, and sucks the precome off his finger.</p>
<p>Dean laughs. "Yeah alright." Mike smirks and crawls down to get a taste of Dean. Dean gasps and mutters, "You've done that before."</p>
<p>Encouraged, Mike goes on, reveling in Dean's gasps and whimpers. He pops off to ask, "You want to top or bottom?"</p>
<p>Dean blushes scarlet all the way down to his chest. "Um. I dunno. Oh, hell, fuck it. You top. If I'm gonna do this, I might as well do this, if you feel me?"</p>
<p>"Good choice," Mike says and lays himself flat to the side to be able to reach his nightstand. He pulls out the drawer to retrieve lube and condoms, then crawls back to reuptake his blowjob. He uncaps the lube bottle, puts some on his finger, and starts teasing Dean's hole open. It takes a while for Dean to relax. Once he's gotten a finger in, he keeps an eye on Dean's expression, seeing him grimace. "You okay?"</p>
<p>"Yep, yep. I'm fine. It ain't comfortable, but I'd expected it to hurt. It just feels weird. Isn't it supposed to hurt?"</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and crooks his finger inside of Dean, searching for the prostate. "No. It's not supposed to hurt. There's some discomfort at the beginning, but after that, it's nice."</p>
<p>"Then why do some people call it painal?"</p>
<p>"Slamming right in would hurt. But―"</p>
<p>Dean suddenly aches off the bed. “<b>JESUS FUCKING CHRIST SONNOVA <em>BITCH</em>!</b>" He gasps and stares down at Mike with eyes wide as saucers. “What the fucking hell was <em>that</em>???”</p>
<p>Mike bites his tongue not to laugh. "What? Oh, you mean this?" He presses his finger against the prostate and collapses in laughter when Dean once again arches off the bed with a wail. "I'm sorry. That's the prostate. I can tell you you're a whole lot more sensitive than I am," he giggles. "How do you feel?"</p>
<p>"Dude. I feel like my whole life has been a lie! Will you be able to hit that with your dick while you fuck me?"</p>
<p>"I aim to try," Mike grins.</p>
<p>“<em>Awesome</em>.”</p>
<p>The discovery of how sensitive Dean's prostate is, makes Dean drop any hesitation. He's enthusiastic and excited and manages to make Mike temporarily forget that Dean said he's a one-hit-wonder type of guy. Mike's riding high. And they've barely finished their first round before Dean declares that he wants to try doing the 'BJ-thing' and crawls down to service Mike, which leads to a second round.</p>
<p>Afterward, Dean lies with his head cushioned on Mike's shoulder with a sated smile, both of them on their backs. Everything smells of their joint scent and Mike's floating on a pink cloud.</p>
<p>"I'm staying for breakfast, just so you know. Ain't letting you kick me out after what we just did," Dean declares.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. "Stay forever." The words are out before he can stop himself.</p>
<p>Dean just sniggers, as if Mike didn't just reveal how badly he's crushing on Dean. "Thanks, but tomorrow I'm going with Gabe to the courthouse. And then I promised Steve to take a look at his car." Dean flips over to lie on Mike's chest, watching him with a content smile. "Hey, so… When you showed me how to shoot earlier, you were flirting with me, right?"</p>
<p>"Mhm."</p>
<p>"And you propositioned me by the piano, right? Or did I get that wrong?"</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. "I absolutely did. I propositioned you twice while we were playing pool, too, but that seemed to pass you right by."</p>
<p>Dean laughs and averts his gaze, looking embarrassed. "Yeah. I'm an oblivious dumbass." He looks back at Mike. "You know you're hot as fuck, right? First time we met, I thought you were a photo model or some shit. Then, when I saw you perform, I stood there thinking, 'Wow. Look at that body. No wonder chicks dig him.'" He sniggers. "And I still didn't get that I might swing that way. Aww… look at you blushing. You're too fucking cute."</p>
<p>"Shut up," Mike grins and pulls him up to silence him with a kiss.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If any of y'all think Dean's reaction to getting his prostate stimulated seems unrealistic, let me tell you it's 100% based on a former boyfriend of mine. Not everyone is that sensitive but his reaction made me absolutely gleeful about sticking my fingers up my boyfriends' butts to check if they were. XD</p>
<p>Okay, so a little note here. This is my fic and Mike/Dean is part of the end game because I said so. But this what you're seeing take place here can be the start of something very destructive. Dean's honest from the start, saying he doesn't do feelings, warning Mike not to misinterpret his affections. So kudos to him for playing with open cards, right?  The danger is if Mike decides to ignore that to pursue a committed relationship anyway. If we leave our fictional boys for a bit, one piece of life advice I want to give you, is that when your partner tells you how they feel about you, listen. Don't go, "They don't mean that," or "They'll change their mind in time." That may lead to a very destructive relationship where you both end up hurting each other because you can't force someone to love. Back to our boys, Dean's actually being really good about communicating openly at this point. The same can't be said for Mike and it might bite him in the ass.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean and Mike have a talk. Nick finds out something about Dean that upsets him, and decides to do something about it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>- Violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
    
  </p>
</div><hr/>
<p>“What are you thinking about?” Mike asks with a soft expression.</p>
<p>They’d eaten, had sex, fallen asleep, woken up in the middle of the night to have sex again, and now Dean’s staring into the darkness, tired mind wandering. His body’s aching in new and interesting places. He could do without the faux-feeling of needing to take a dump that comes with getting railed in the ass, but getting his prostate pounded made up for it. <em>Man</em>, that was wild.</p>
<p>Mike’s a very caring lover, attentive to any hesitance or signs of discomfort. Luckily, caring didn’t translate to gentle. Dean likes gentle sex as much as anyone, and he isn’t a fan of too rough or degrading sex, but he wants his partner not to hold back. He’s got kinks. Who doesn’t, right? He likes to be manhandled, and when his partner is bossy, taking the lead. (Anyone who says girls can’t do that hasn’t been with the right girls. So there.) It’s nice to let go of control once in a while, right? And Mike delivered.</p>
<p>But right now, his mind’s wandered off to the reason he wanted to speak with Mike in the first place. “What Sam’s said to you to make you think Dad’s been bad touching him,” Dean answers. “He didn’t, okay? I was there, okay? I woulda noticed. Dad might have his faults, but he loves us, okay? I know y’all went through some tough shit, but y’all are just projecting this.” Just talking about it makes the perpetual ball of anxiety in his stomach grow.</p>
<p>Mike’s fingers trail soothing patterns on his chest. Mike’s body is a warm comfort against his side in the darkness. Dean hates sleeping alone. He might crack jokes about not getting enough hugs as a child, but that’s true. That’s one of Dad’s faults. His affections were sparing, which makes the allegations against him so absurd. Sam, on the other hand, made up for it. Most clingy, affectionate little shit on the planet. Always wanting to sit on your lap, or cuddle in under your arm when you watched a movie or read to him. Sam didn’t understand personal space. Still didn’t, Dean had noted.</p>
<p>“Maybe you’re right,” Mike says after a few beats of silence. “Maybe we are projecting a bit. But we know for sure your brother has gone through some type of trauma, and all circumstantial evidence points to sexual abuse as a child.”</p>
<p>“So what <em>circumstantial evidence</em> are we talking about?” Dean says sarcastically, his own fingers caressing Mike’s forearms softly in contrast to his hostile tone.</p>
<p>Mike takes a deep breath. “Um. If, if we’re going to talk ab-bout that, I, uh, I need you to p-promise not to lash out at me. S-s-storm out on me, if yuh-you can’t handle it.”</p>
<p>Dean feels sick. “‘S a bunch of stuff I don’t really wanna hear, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Dean’s brain is already screaming, ‘<em>Lies! All lies!</em>’ at him, shying away from whatever he might hear. “You’ll be telling the truth, as you perceive it, right? No bullshit embellishments to push your narrative. Just the things you interpret as indications of- of-” <em>Fuck. I can’t even say it.</em> “-of sexual abuse.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Dean shifts, gets an arm under Mike’s neck, and pulls him onto Dean’s chest, hugging him close like a comforting blanket. “Okay. I promise I won’t hurt you for describing the world as you perceive it, Mike. Just talk to me.”</p>
<p>Mike’s quiet for a moment. He’s tense. Not trusting the promise. Which is fair. ‘Promise you won’t react like I think you’re going to react,’ usually means the reaction will still come. Mike can’t know how well Dean’s trained himself to bottle up emotions lest his own anger would provoke Dad’s.</p>
<p>“I would’ve had sex with your brother as enthusiastically as I did with you. You understand that? I thought he was nineteen, and he left no doubt as to how badly he wanted it. Is that going to be a problem for you?” Mike bravely asks.</p>
<p>Dean snorts in amusement and kisses the crown of Mike’s head. “Well, <em>yeah</em>, obviously. But also no. It’s already a problem and I’m dealing with it, or you’d have met me and a baseball bat in a dark alley weeks ago.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and relaxes a bit. “O-okay. Um… where to start? We, uh, we met Sam after a gig. I told you Nick couldn’t take his eyes off him on stage, and Nick flirted like he always does. Then, after the gig, we sat at our usual table drinking, and Nick’s gaze was drawn like a magnet to the bar where Sam and his friends stood. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. Sam noticed it, and came up to us. He stopped beside Nick and with the cockiest, cattiest smirk, said, ‘I figured we ought to get to know each other better, so I came over to spare you the work of having to come to me.’ Nick didn’t know what to do with himself,” he says, sniggering.</p>
<p>“Sounds like Sammy takes after his big brother,” Dean remarks with a note of pride.</p>
<p>“Mmh. Some interpret Sam as shy. He isn’t by a long shot. But Nick shot him down rather humiliatingly, and I wouldn’t stand for it, so I invited Sam to sit with us and put him on my tab. When it was time for him to leave, I asked for his phone number and texted him later that night inviting him to hang out with us or maybe have lunch with me someday. Sam’s one of those rare people who’re genuinely nice. Not a mean bone in his body. I really liked him, even if my main reason was Nick’s instant, debilitating crush on him. Sam took me up on the offer to have lunch and our friendship got started. I don’t easily make friends. I’m too insecure and shy. But Sam and I just clicked.”</p>
<p>“Like Gabe and I? I knew from the moment I shook his hand that he has the potential to be a real friend.”</p>
<p>“You did? That’s nice,” Mike says, soft and pleased. “Anyway, he started to sit with us after gigs, and he and I had lunch or talked on the phone often. I started to notice oddities. I think, if I remember it correctly, that the first thing we suspected, was that he was a prostitute.”</p>
<p>“A what now?”</p>
<p>“I know. It’s not something you accuse someone of willy-nilly. I’m sorry, Dean, but that’s one of the things we’re 99% sure of. It started with Nick going off on Claire, a girl competing with him for Sam’s attention. Nick called her a whore, the lowest of the low, and Sam freaked out about it. When I had lunch with him afterward, he said someone close to his heart is a prostitute. That was the first hint. He claims to have had sex with maybe hundreds of guys, but we never saw him pick someone up. However, he went AWOL for a month, which freaked us all out, and I gave Nick permission to break into Sam’s motel room. He found loads of condoms and the results of an STD test. Then, when he came back, he had money problems. Claire had conned him out of 2 grand, and he had a few days before he’d be kicked out of his motel, and no job. He didn’t borrow money from any of us, but from one day to the next, he’d solved it. That’s a pattern. He’s broke, then suddenly he’s got money along with hickeys, bruises, and other sex-related blemishes. He’s too nice to con or rob anyone. I have no doubt whatsoever I’m right about this.”</p>
<p>Dean’s cold all over. He feels like he might throw up. “O-okay. So maybe he was raped. Nothing of that says Dad did something.”</p>
<p>“No. Child prostitution is common amongst sexual abuse victims, but it’s not the only reason to end up like that. But that’s our first clue. Then, that night he and I ended up dating, we were pretty drunk. We strolled together and talked. He said he’d been taught sex was the highest form of love―”</p>
<p>“Dude. That’s fucking bullshit. It sure as hell ain’t. It’s awesome, but it ain’t the epitome of love,” Dean protests.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. “I’m not arguing. That’s what he said. I refuted him and explained what love was. And he said he didn’t understand things. That people kept drawing lines in the sand around him that he didn’t understand. I asked him for examples and he mentioned you. I quote, ‘Why is it crossing a line that I fantasize about him? I mean, I love him to bits, and he's beautiful and awesome in every way, right? So would it really be so wrong for me to show him how I feel by letting him have me?’”</p>
<p>“Oh <em>fuck</em>, that’s gross.” Dean pushes Mike away and rolls out of bed to pace. It’s too dark to see, so he opens the door to the living room where the window lets in the street light. He paces back and forth, neck bent, pulling his hair. “You’re not making this shit up, right? I’ll fuck you up if you’re saying this for shits and giggles, okay? This shit ain’t fucking funny.”</p>
<p>“Not making things up. We love your little brother and are worried about him. We want to help him. Nothing about this is funny.”</p>
<p>Dean paces a few more minutes, trying to calm himself down. “Is there more of this bullshit?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Dean comes back to bed and burrows his face in under Mike’s shoulder, noting how Mike winces at the sudden approach as if expecting violence. But Dean’s nowhere near a violent state. He’s closer to crawl into a corner and hug his legs to his chest like a frightened child. “Okay. Go on.”</p>
<p>“It happened when we were about to have sex. We’d been making out all the way home, got naked on the couch, everything was going fine. Sam was enthusiastic. He knew what he was doing. When we moved to the bedroom he said he was nervous. I told him I was nervous too, it’s normal when you’re with someone new, right?”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“But he said that he’s never nervous, that it was new. And then, when I went down to give him a BJ, he suddenly froze up, he looked terrified, staring at the ceiling with eyes moving and didn’t react when I snapped my fingers in front of his face. I wrapped him in a blanket to cover him up and held him until he came back.”</p>
<p>“Could it have been a seizure?”</p>
<p>“No. He didn’t freeze up that way. And the worst part is that once he came back he was desperate to go on because he didn’t want to ruin it for me. Like getting me to orgasm was the only important thing. I- I- No way I could’ve gone on then. Nick thinks he was having some sort of flashback. It’s happened any time Sam and I’ve tried to have sex. And Sam says it only happens with me but he doesn’t understand it since he’s never felt as safe as he does with me.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Someone has bad-touched Sam. Fucking hell! WHEN???</em>
</p>
<p>Dean’s freaking the hell out. He rolls away to lie on his belly, puts a pillow over his head, and pulls on Mike’s arm to get him to lie on top of him like one of those magical weighted blankets. “Is there more?” he asks, muffled by the mattress.</p>
<p>Mike rests his head on the pillow over Dean. “Sam’s got memory gaps. He’s claimed he’s never, ever been blackout drunk. But if you ask him when he lost his virginity to a guy, you’ll get different answers every time. Usually, he claims he was blackout drunk when it happened.”</p>
<p>“None of that means it had to be Dad,” Dean refutes. It can’t be. <em>It can’t be!</em></p>
<p>Mike sighs. “No. We’re jumping to conclusions and basing it on the memory gaps seeming to be from all over his childhood, his inability to see wrong in familial sex, and how isolated he seems to have been. We might have suspected you too, but you’re his hero, and you appear to be creeped out when Sam gets too handsy with you.”</p>
<p>Dean lifts his head, bumping Mike’s chin, cushioned by the pillow between them. “You’re goddamn right I’m creeped out! He’s my brother for fuck sake! <em>Fuck!</em>” He puts his head down on the mattress again and takes deep breaths until he’s calmed down somewhat. His belly’s a mess of anxiety, he can barely feel his own skin, and he’s nauseous. “That’s all?”</p>
<p>“That’s all,” Mike assures, lying still and passive on top of Dean.</p>
<p>Dean twists around, dislodging the pillow and grabbing Mike’s cheeks, noting Mike stiffen as if he once again braces for violence. He pulls Mike in for a rough kiss. “I need to process this. Later. But how ‘bout some escapism right, fucking, now?”</p>
<p>“Dean. I don’t think that’s the healthiest solution,” Mike protests gently.</p>
<p>“Fuck healthy. It’s either that or going out to blow all my money on alcohol or whateverfuck I can get my hands on that’ll blast my brain.”</p>
<p>Mike’s right eye and cheekbone catch the faint light coming from the living room. It’s enough to highlight the concerned expression. Yet after a few seconds of hesitation, Mike reaches for the lube and bends down to kiss Dean...</p>
<hr/>
<p>On his way to work, Nick’s riding his motorcycle when he spots Dean’s car parked at a rest stop outside the city. He passes it but finds himself frowning, wondering what the hell it’s doing there. Dean’s been an annoying part of their life for a few weeks now, and he’d almost successfully driven a wedge between Sam and the brothers. Anytime Nick’s tried to get Sam to come over, Sam made some dumb excuse like how he had to study, <em>or</em> he’d promised to meet up with Dean. Nick hadn’t seen Sam once since their last gig at the Anchor. Hence, Dean is the root of all evil in the world.</p>
<p>It bugs him that he can’t figure out why Dean’s car is parked where he is.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck sake.</em>
</p>
<p>Nick makes a U-turn when the next opportunity opens up and drives back to the rest stop. He parks his motorcycle and walks up to Dean’s car, taking off his helmet. The car windows are partially rolled down, which is fucking lunacy. It’s like begging for car theft. Nick snorts derisively and peeks inside.</p>
<p>The rolled down car windows instantly make sense in today’s heat—Dean’s sleeping in the backseat of the car.</p>
<p>Nick frowns and bangs on the car door.</p>
<p>Dean wakes up with a jerk, holding up both hands in surrender before he’s even opened his eyes. “Sorry, officer. I’d been driving all night and almost fell asleep by the wheel. Gonna move the car,” he lies.</p>
<p>Something twists in Nick’s gut. “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Dean blinks blearily at him. “Oh fuck. It’s you. What does it look like, jackass? I’m sleeping,” he grumps and pulls himself to a sitting position furthest away from Nick.</p>
<p>“Why aren’t you sleeping in a motel?”</p>
<p>“I’m not made of money, dammit,” Dean says resentfully. “I’ll get a motel room when I get paid in a couple of days.”</p>
<p>“You paid for Gabe’s restraining order application,” Nick counters. It was nearly 400 bucks. That would’ve equaled 8 days at the Blue Lotus.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, I had the money and Gabe shouldn’t have to pay to get rid of his psycho stalker,” Dean argues.</p>
<p>“He has a full-time job,” Nick points out.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but most of his excess goes to Ella, doesn’t it? She’s not gonna need less therapy, bloodwork, and hormones just because Gabe fucked the wrong bitch once. So I took care of it. You gonna stand here and argue all day, or you gonna let me sleep?” he snipes defensively.</p>
<p>Piece after piece click in place in Nick’s head. “You’re homeless.”</p>
<p>Dean pulls a knee to his chest and wraps an arm around it, staring angrily at the back of the seat in front of him. “Du-<em>uh</em>. So what?”</p>
<p>Nick’s been annoyed at how many times Dean’s hung out with Gabe until it got so late he ended up crashing on the couch, then getting up early in the morning, eating breakfast together. He’s crashed at Steve’s several times. But the first couple of days, he’d had a motel room, so Nick, and everyone else too presumably, had assumed Dean still had it. Nick’s heard Dean pick up girls three times. ‘So, how good are the chances you and I will be waking up and eating breakfast together at your place tomorrow?’ he’d purred. One girl had answered that it had to be his place, and Dean lost interest. It was never about the sex, was it? It was about a bed, shower, and free meal.</p>
<p>Nick’s ill at ease. Dean’s clothing style had changed since he arrived. His new way of dressing landed somewhere between frat-boy preppy and Mike and Gabe’s casual style. Blending in like a fucking octopus changing its color and texture. A con man. A user. Except, he spends all his money on the same damn people he’s mooching on.</p>
<p>And now he’s sitting there hugging his damn leg for comfort; vulnerable, humiliated, and grumpy at being caught in a lie he never outright told.</p>
<p>Nick takes his keychain from his pocket, separates his home keys from his work keys, and holds out his home keys, jangling them. “Here. Take these. Go to my place. Don’t touch the master bedroom. Stay away from the locked rooms but feel free to pick any of the other bedrooms. Make yourself at home. Shower. Eat. Wash your clothes. Whatever. I’ll be home at 4 PM.”</p>
<p>Dean frowns at him suspiciously, so Nick jangles his keys again. Dean opens the car door and gets out. He rounds the back of the car slowly, scrutinizing Nick warily like a stray dog who’s been offered treats but gotten a boot thrown at it instead too often. He comes close enough to hold out his hand for the keys, but he’s watching Nick’s expression, not his hand.</p>
<p>It’s making Nick feel like garbage.</p>
<p>He drops the keys in Dean’s hand. “You have a pen and paper? I’ll write down the address.”</p>
<p>Dean rubs a key between thumb and forefinger, face directed at the keys but eyes moving as if he’s looking at something inside of his head, thinking. Wheels ticking, weighing his options.</p>
<p>Nick can imagine what’s going on in Dean’s head. ‘Is it a genuine offer? What will it cost me? Do I want this asshole to have leverage over me?’ Dean’s got an EQ well above average. He’s got good gut instincts. This hesitance is based on recognizing a low-life like Nick for what he is (and tries not to be) and past experiences of failing to see crap coming.</p>
<p>Nick’s self-hate burns corrosive, knowing what someone has to go through to see the dangers in accepting what looks like unprompted kindness like this.</p>
<p>Dean’s hesitance lasts only for a few seconds, then he pulls up a notebook and pen from his back pocket and hands them to Nick.</p>
<p>Nick opens it and finds page after page of notes - places, sightings, clues, all relating to Dean’s hunt for Sam. He quickly flips to the last page instead of trying to find the first empty page, writes his address, and hands the book and pen back.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Dean says and smiles, but suspicious apprehension still in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Don’t mention it. And don’t fucking steal anything. I know my valuables, and I’ll hunt you down like a dog,” Nick says because he’s human garbage with trust issues.</p>
<p>“Fuck you. I don’t bite the hand that feeds me,” Dean snipes, insulted.</p>
<p>“Good,” Nick says, faking a smile. “Then I’m off to work. See you later,” he says and puts his helmet back on.</p>
<p>Dean’s still standing outside of his car, watching him when Nick drives off with a wave.</p>
<p>The encounter gnaws on him all day. He pendulums back and forth between regretting his impulse and feeling good about himself. He <em>wants</em> to view Dean as just another asshole - an adversary trying to take his precious Sam from him. But the thought is gnawing that Dean’s another little bird. One that’s developed claws and a sharp beak, as Nick did. Who’s been hurt and mistreated countless times and learned how to hide in other birds’ nests like a cuckoo chick to make sure it’s fed and cared for.</p>
<p>Dean spent 400 bucks on Gabe, knowing it meant he’d be homeless for days.</p>
<p>Dean’s an idiot. And Nick’s of two minds about him, but he sees why Gabe’s so attached to him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick doesn’t know what to expect when he gets home. During his lunch break, he met up with Gabe to make a copy of Gabe’s set of keys so Dean could keep a pair of his own. Nick’s yet to settle on an emotion about offering up his home. But today Gabe and Mike are coming over to jam, so he won’t have to deal with not living alone until tomorrow. It’s the first time he’s had a stranger staying over (that isn’t also a lay) and he’s regretting it every second minute.</p>
<p>There’s no outward sign that the house is invaded. No broken windows or a charred ruin to tip him off that there’s a houseguest. The door is locked. He unlocks it and steps inside.</p>
<p>The scents that hit him instantly tells him life’s gone topsy-turvy. It smells fresh from Pine-Sol floor cleaning, mixed with enticing scents of cooking. Nick wonders what Dean spilled in the hallway to make him feel the need to mop. He takes off his shoes before he continues in. He’s not like Mike. Mike will throw a fit if he knows his guests or keep a polite smile while having an internal meltdown if anyone enters his home with shoes on. Nick allows shoes indoors but has an aversion to stepping on newly cleaned floors with shoes on. He’s surprised to find his living room floor as spotless as the hallway.</p>
<p>His bookshelves have been dusted.</p>
<p>That… that’s never happened before.</p>
<p>He can hear Dean in the kitchen, making sounds of cooking while whistling ‘Music’ by John Miles.</p>
<p>Nick has this strange feeling in his chest that he doesn’t like. It’s like he’s stepped into one of Gabe’s pranks and figured out something’s wrong but the trap hasn’t sprung yet.</p>
<p>He decides to inspect the rest of the house before he goes to announce his presence. He tries the handle to the rehearsal room where all his expensive equipment is. It’s still locked. He unlocks it―he only keeps it locked while he’s not at home―and continues his inspection. The toilets and bathroom are sparkling clean. The washer in the basement is chugging away, both his and Dean’s black clothes already hanging to dry on clotheslines. Upstairs, the guestrooms are clean, but not the master bedroom and not the rooms he’s not yet finished renovating.</p>
<p>Nick’s got stress pouring out his ears. There’s got to be a catch. There’s <em>got</em> to be! Nobody just magicks a house into perfection for no reason.</p>
<p>He goes back into his bedroom and goes through his drawers, checking if his watches, jewelry, and money are still there. Everything’s still in place. Untouched.</p>
<p>He gets up and heads for the door, throws a look at his bookcase, and then he sees it.</p>
<p>Something’s missing.</p>
<p>Something very expensive.</p>
<p>A gift he got from Azazel.</p>
<p>His camera.</p>
<p>Rage flares furnace hot in his chest and his pulse rushes in his ears. Without thought, he stomps down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. “<em>Dean!</em>” he calls out.</p>
<p>“Heya, honey,” Dean calls back chirpily. “I hope you’re hungry. You had a lot of food with questionable expiration dates, so I took the liberty of salvage what I could. Figured with all your Tupperware, we could freeze it and you’ll have lunch for a week or two,” he babbles on.</p>
<p>Nick stops in the doorway, glaring at Dean who’s standing by the stove stirring a pot. The kitchen is as clean as the rest of the house. No dirty dishes in the sink. Plastic lunchboxes with mouthwatering food cooling on the bench.</p>
<p>“At first I thought maybe you don’t have access to a microwave at work. No biggie. You can still grab a lunchbox for dinner, right? But then I figured, with all the Tupperware in your sink, you―” Dean finally looks up and stops talking when he spots Nick. His body language goes from loose and relaxed to tense and guarded.</p>
<p>“I explicitly told you not to go into the master bedroom,” Nick says coldly.</p>
<p>Dean frowns, shuts off the stove and pulls the two pots off the hot plates, then turns to face Nick. “I haven’t been in the master bedroom,” the asshole lies.</p>
<p>“I explicitly told you <em>not to steal from me!</em>”</p>
<p>“The fuck you talking about? I haven’t stolen anything. I’m just cooking. I wasn’t planning to take it with me,” Dean answers and gestures at the food cooling on the workbench.</p>
<p>“Don’t play games with me, Dean. I’m not having it. <em>Where’s my camera?!</em>”</p>
<p>Dean’s chest heaves, his mouth draws into a thin line, his eyes go from angry-confused to angry-guarded. He raises his hands, palms out as if to ward off trouble. “What camera? I didn’t see no fucking camera anywhere.”</p>
<p>Nick’s face distorts in a grimace of rage. “You lying piece of shit!” He moves without thinking, striding towards Dean to beat the truth out of him. He <em>sees</em> Dean shift, grounding himself, arms lowering to a battle-ready position, but he’s too furious to fully comprehend the meaning of that. He swings for Dean’s jaw. That’s instantly followed by a sharp pain by his ribs and his head slamming into the wall behind Dean, then he’s flung backward, stumbling, vaulting over the kitchen table, overturning and breaking a chair when he lands. He scrambles to his feet, ready to launch another attack.</p>
<p>Dean’s moving sideways like a crab, arms ready, heading for the doorway, keeping his front towards Nick. “Calm the fuck down, Nick. I didn’t take your fucking camera. I can help you look for it if you want, but I <em>didn’t take it</em>.”</p>
<p>“Liar. It was there, I give you my keys and leave you alone and now it’s not. Fuck you,” Nick grits out and launches himself at Dean again. This time he’s ready to be met with resistance and manages to evade Dean’s first move, getting a punch in then tackling Dean with enough force to take them both tumbling out of the kitchen into the living room. Dean hits hard, jabs at places that send numbing jolts down Nick’s arms, and stabbing pain in other places. But that propels Nick into survival mode, which to him equals insanity; kill or be killed. They roll around grappling on the floor, Dean kicks Nick off him, sending him flying backward again. Both of them scrambling to their feet as soon as they land. It’s basic survival in a street fight. No matter how hurt you are, if you stay down you’re dead.</p>
<p>Another clash and they’re both bleeding, breath getting more labored, energy running out. Nick feels the first hint of panic because he’s losing. Nick’s getting in his own share of vicious punches and kicks, but he’s the one losing energy at the fastest rate, and Dean’s landing repeated blows in the same spots, numbing limbs and breaking muscle tension.</p>
<p>Again, Nick’s flung backward, landing on his back on the couch. He scrambles to stand and sees Dean stand ready to fight him. Dean’s bleeding from both his nose and a busted lip. A bruise is blooming on his cheekbone. His knuckles are blue and his eyes tired but focused. “Calm down, Nick. This is helping nobody,” Dean says. He throws a look to his side.</p>
<p>It’s an opening. A fraction of a second of vulnerability and Nick launches instead of checking what Dean was looking at. He attacks. Dean parries his blow but Nick gets an arm hooked around Dean’s neck. Dean tries to use the grip to throw him over his back. He succeeds, but Nick’s grip remains around his neck, taking him with him to the floor at an angle where Dean’s got difficulty breaking the chokehold. “Where’s my camera, asshole?! Azazel gave me that camera! Give me back my camera!” Nick grits out.</p>
<p>“I took your camera.”</p>
<p>Nick looks up to where the voice came from. It’s Gabe, eyes wide and dismayed,<br/>standing to the side where Dean had looked. Nick lets go of Dean and gets up, advancing menacingly on his terrified little brother.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>hell no.</em>” Dean scrambles up and places himself between Nick and Gabe. “Enough, you piece of shit. You ain’t touching a hair on his head,” he growls.</p>
<p>Behind him, Gabe goes, “Okay bye,” and runs out of the room, quickly followed by the outer door slamming shut.</p>
<p>Nick stops and sways. He blinks, trying to get the stinging out of his eye. He hurts fucking <em>everywhere</em>.</p>
<p>Dean holds up his hands, palm out. “Calm down, Nick. I did not take your camera. Gabe did. And he’s not here. So you go sit there,” he points at the couch, “and take deep breaths until you’re sane again.”</p>
<p>Nick stares at the younger man standing there trying to reason with him. Dean didn’t take the camera. Fuck.</p>
<p>Nick abruptly goes to the couch and sits down with a grunt of pain.</p>
<p>“Good.” Dean remains standing with a guarded expression while the reality of what he’s done washes over Nick. Anger evaporates, and without it, he feels his pain. Dean comes closer, pushes the living room table away from Nick to stop in front of him. “Hey, look at me.” Nick looks up and Dean scrutinizes him, sharp eyes meeting Nick’s for a few seconds. “Alright. You’re back. Okay. Stay here. I’m gonna go get my first aid kit upstairs and wash my hands, then we’ll get you cleaned up, okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay…”</p>
<p>Dean turns around and takes off his outer shirt, throwing it on the couch. He starts walking away and Nick lifts his head to watch him.</p>
<p>Dean’s got a gun.</p>
<p>Dean’s got a fucking gun tucked in the back of his pants.</p>
<p>It sends a chill down Nick’s spine.</p>
<p>“You had it the whole time?”</p>
<p>Dean turns around. “Huh?”</p>
<p>“The gun. You had it all this time?”</p>
<p>Dean rolls his eyes. “No, dummy, it magically appeared when I took my shirt off. Duh.”</p>
<p>“Why do you have a gun on you?”</p>
<p>“You didn’t tell me where to park so I parked some way up the road. Can’t leave a gun lying around in a car. What if it gets stolen? What if a bunch of kids break in and find it? Yeah, no. If I ain’t got a good place to lock it in, I’m carrying it. Don’t worry, I’ve got permits,” he says and waves dismissively. Then walks away.</p>
<p>Nick’s left reeling. He looks around at the mess they’ve made. There’s blood on the newly washed floors. A side table has tipped over and splintered. The vase on top of it (an ugly piece he’d gotten from a coworker) is shattered. He can see pieces of the kitchen chair he broke through the kitchen doorway. He attacked Dean completely unprovoked and Dean had a gun on him all this time.</p>
<p>Nick’s hand trembles. He grabs it with his other hand and squeezes when the magnitude of that really hits him.</p>
<p>Dean’s whistling when he comes down the stairs. He drops a first aid kit on the couch. “Hold on. I’m gonna get us some ice,” he says and goes to the kitchen. When he comes back he’s got two batches of ice wrapped in kitchen towels, holding one against his cheekbone. He sits down beside Nick and hands him one of the ice rags. “You’re not gonna hit me again, are ya?”</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head, shame burning his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Good. Then sit still. I’ll patch you up good as new.” Dean reaches for the first aid kit and puts aside his ice. He puts up a chipper attitude but Nick can see that he’s tense. There’s a strain around his eyes and a slight tenseness to his movements.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you use the gun?”</p>
<p>Dean snorts. “Sam’s in love with you and you’re Gabe’s brother. I’m sure they’d be delighted if I put a bullet in your leg.” He takes forth a bottle of antiseptic and opens a packet of sterile gauze, then starts to wash a gash over Nick’s eye. The gauze comes away red. Nick didn’t even know he was bleeding but it explains the sting in his eye. “Besides, you should never pull a gun if you don’t intend to use it. Gun safety and all that. You got a gun safe where I can lock mine in?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“So where do you keep yours? Oh, this is gonna need stitches. Hold on.” Dean digs around in his kit until he finds a needle and thread.</p>
<p>“I don’t own one.”</p>
<p>“You don’t?”</p>
<p>Dean looks so genuinely surprised Nick huffs a small laugh. “I’m a piece of garbage with a hair-trigger temper and low impulse control. People like me shouldn’t own a gun. Besides, to have a gun you need to actually <em>plan</em> to use it. I always plan to be a nice little kitten then people say something offensive and, <em>boom</em>.” Nick closes his eyes and sucks in a breath through his teeth when Dean starts to stitch his brow.</p>
<p>“Huh.” Dean’s quiet for a bit while he stitches Nick up. He washes the newly stitched wound and moves on to take care of other blemishes. “So who’s Azazel?” he asks.</p>
<p>“My ex.”</p>
<p>“She dumped you, huh?”</p>
<p>Nick opens his eyes to see Dean focusing on cleaning his own damaged face with the help of a hand mirror. “He died.”</p>
<p>Dean halts his movements to side-eye Nick. “Really desperate to get away from you, huh?” His lips twitch in amusement. “Yeah, mom was the same. She was like, ‘Fuck this parenting shit. I’m out!’” he says and sniggers.</p>
<p>Nick hiccups a giggle. Quiets down, then another laugh bubbles up inside of him. Dean laughs along. They grin at each other and Dean goes back to caring for his split lip. “Dean. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Dean side-eyes him again. “Pfft. It’s nothing. You hit like a damn girl,” he lies, fake-chipper. “Besides, I steal stuff all the time. But I don’t bite the hand that feeds me and I don’t shit where I eat. I’m kinda pissed off about the false accusation.”</p>
<p>“Understandably.”</p>
<p>Dean takes the ice rag he’d abandoned and holds it to his cheek, then turns towards Nick, pulling a leg up under himself on the couch. “So, this room thing. Was it an offer for a couple of hours, or…? Cuz normally getting a motel room isn’t a big deal. Dad taught me how to commit credit card fraud. But that shit doesn’t fly when I’m in a place where I’m planning to stay for a longer time. I ain’t interested in getting caught, if you feel me. So a minor brawl notwithstanding, is there any chance you’d rent out a room to me?”</p>
<p>“Rent? I never even considered taking payment. Of course, you can stay. I’m not letting Sam’s brother be homeless. I’ve <em>been</em> homeless. We’ll figure something out when we see how we annoy each other, living together. Maybe you can buy the food or something.”</p>
<p>“Awesome,” Dean says with a smile.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick feels like a wet rag of shame and regret. Moping around. He cleaned up the mess they made while Dean went back to cooking, and Nick’s just finished, coming back up from the basement where he’d put away the cleaning gear, when he hears voices.</p>
<p>“D-Dean! Whu-whu-what are you doing here?” Mike’s voice asks delightedly. It’s followed by a worried, “Oh my god, what huh-happened?”</p>
<p>“The neighbor asked for help getting a heavy-ass piece of furniture down the stairs so Nick and I went over there to help. But my stupid ass misstepped on the way down. Fell backwards. I got the damn thing over me, taking Nick with me in the fall,” Dean chuckles, sounding annoyed and embarrassed all at once.</p>
<p>“He’s lying,” Nick calls out and emerges to see Mike stand four feet away from Dean with a worried frown. “I accused him of stealing my camera. He, like the asshole he is, denied it. So I tried to kick his ass.”</p>
<p>Mike gives Nick a dark look. “Nick.”</p>
<p>“You don’t tell people you’ve been in a fight, jackass,” Dean scolds Nick.</p>
<p>“Gabe saw us, Numbnut,” Nick counters.</p>
<p>“Oh. Right. Good point.” Dean looks at Mike again and huffs an awkward laugh. “Yeah, so, what he said,” he says and points at Nick with a thumb. “Anyway, I need to…” he motions towards the kitchen and smiles at Mike. “Dinner’s almost ready.” When Dean starts walking Mike follows him like the love-sick puppy he is.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. He wants to watch his brother pine, but first, he goes outside to the porch to call out, “Gabe, you can come inside now! I won’t hurt you!” Gabe tends to hide somewhere nearby in situations like this, waiting for things to blow over. Gabe’s head pokes up hesitantly from behind his car. “Dinner’s almost ready,” Nick tells him, then goes to join Mike and Mike’s clueless love interest in the kitchen.</p>
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<a name="section0025"><h2>25. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's struggling but gets one little piece of good news. Nick and Dean get to know each other better.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>- Mentions of domestic/child abuse<br/>- referenced sexual abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <tt><b>Sam Winchester:</b> Thanks for the invite but I can’t. I promised Dean to meet up with him tonight.</tt>
</p><p>Nick frowns at the text, then sits up on the couch so he can look into the kitchen where Dean’s currently arranging the new spice rack, whistling contentedly. “Hey, asshat. Are you going out tonight?”</p><p>“Nope,” Dean answers easily.</p><p>“Are you planning to bring friends over?”</p><p>“Nope.” Dean stills then turns his head to look at Nick. "I'm allowed to do that?"</p><p>"Of course. You live here." Nick hates how surprised Dean looks, yet he adds, "On second thought, no." The quickly hidden disappointment on Dean's face makes him change his mind again. "Okay, you can bring friends if I already know them. If I don't, you have to introduce them beforehand."</p><p>Dean smiles. "Don't drag random hookups home. Gotcha," he says with a cheeky wink and returns his attention to turning the labels on the spice jars so they all line up perfectly. Two weeks of living with Dean has taught Nick that when Dean's OCDing like this, he's stressed out about something. The cleaning, cooking, and laundering he did daily relaxed him, but this? This is something else. Nick has the urge to go there, grab a spice jar and pour its content on the floor then walk away, just to see what Dean would do.</p><p>Nick gets up from the couch and goes to lean on the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest. He sighs. “You can bring anyone you like home as long as you’d feel comfortable with leaving them alone in a room with your valuables. My bedroom and the music room is off limits unless I’m around to supervise. And I would appreciate it if you send me a text if you’ve got friends over, so I can mentally prepare for it.”</p><p>Dean huffs in fake amusement and looks at him. “Okay, you’re gonna have to decide on an answer, bossman, cuz I can’t follow rules if they keep changing every second.”</p><p>Nick rolls his eyes then stares at the curtains, then the vase with wildflowers on the kitchen table. His eyes are drawn to the flowers every time he walks into the kitchen and for some reason they make him feel sad. It’s the only thing Dean’s changed to make this home more like he wants it, without using stuff Nick already owns. Nick doesn’t count the spice rack nor the new shelving arrangement for the cleaning gear. Those are practical solutions they both benefit from. “This is your home now, Dean. Unless you choose to move out, you’ll be living here for at least two years―” Nick cuts off when he sees Dean’s jarred expression, and scrunches his face in an uncertain grimace. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? You’ll be around for as long as Sam’s in college?”</p><p>“Uh, y-yeah. B-but I―” Dean fumbles for words, eyes darting back and forth in confusion.</p><p>Nick’s face smooths out. “Well, then. This is your home. You live here, and have a say in who gets to come here. If you find an apartment and want to move out I’m not going to stop you. But until that happens this is your home. You understand me?”</p><p>Dean answers, “Y-yeah,” with an aborted little head shake that speaks volumes to Nick. He wishes Chuck hadn’t forced him to take that psychology class. He wishes that the uncertainty and fear in Dean’s eyes didn’t make sense to him.</p><p>Impulsively, Nick says, “Good. And next week, you and I will take a trip to IKEA to buy everything you need to make your room fully yours. And we’ll buy stuff for our home that combines our tastes and puts your stamp on the house.”</p><p>Dean smirks and shakes his head. “I can’t afford―”</p><p>“I’m buying, jackass,” Nick interrupts him with an eye-roll.</p><p>“But Ella’s treatment?”</p><p>Nick snaps his fingers on one hand and points at Dean. “Great idea! We’ll bring Ella. She makes IKEA bearable and it’s about time she visited again.”</p><p>Dean looks like a fish for a second, opening and closing his mouth. “Um, okay. Is there anything I need to know about her before I meet her so I don't put my foot in my mouth?”</p><p>Nick shrugs, already looking forward to dragging the two of them to IKEA for a shopping spree. “Don’t deadname her and use female pronouns and you’ll get along. Or you won’t, but that’ll be a personality clash, not a linguistic error.”</p><p>“What’s ‘deadname’?”</p><p>“Don’t use the name her parents gave her.”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, no. Gotcha.”</p><p>“Great. Now will you stop OCDing over the spices and go set up your pedal board as you want it? Mike and Gabe are coming over to jam.”</p><p>Dean finally relaxes, body language opening up excitedly. “Yeah, sure.” He starts walking towards the doorway but Nick holds out a hand to stop him just as he’s about to pass. “What?”</p><p>“You wouldn’t happen to know what Sam’s doing tonight?”</p><p>“He and Steve are spending some bro-time together.”</p><p>“Does Steve know that?”</p><p>Dean frowns at him. “What do you mean?” Nick shows him the text from Sam. “Sonnova bitch!”</p><p>“Mhm. My thoughts exactly. Would you check with Steve, just to be sure? Before we moved in together I used to believe Sam when he said you were hogging his time. But now his behavior screams either depression or drugs. I’m worried.”</p><p>“Yeah. Me too.”</p><p>“We’ll figure something out,” Nick promises, seeing his own concern reflected in Dean’s eyes.</p>
<hr/><p>The sound of the drums and electric guitar coming from downstairs is so loud they can hear it clearly here in the upstairs bathroom with the door closed. It’s good, since as long they can hear both instruments they know Nick and Gabe are busy. And it’s good, because it covers up the sound of bodies slapping together, but Mike still covers Dean’s mouth with a hand when Dean fails to contain a prolonged moan when Mike repeatedly hits his prostate.</p><p>Dean’s eyes are wide and wild in the bathroom mirror above the counter he’s bracing himself on, locked with Mike’s, fierce above a predatory grin. Mike’s wearing the black tank top today, showing off his muscular arms that Dean can’t get out of his mind and stars in too many of Dean’s jerkoff sessions. One hand grips Dean’s hip firmly enough to leave bruises, the other covers Dean’s mouth, and Dean wishes he could take a photo to keep the image of the two of them like this. Mike’s wild hair, the lighting painting white highlights on Mike’s sweaty forehead, cheekbones, and arms, while at the same time softening his own features and making his eyes unnaturally green with their desperate ecstasy.</p><p>He squeezes his eyes shut and bucks when he comes, shooting stripes of semen over the counter.</p><p>Mike shifts his grip to hold his hips with both hands, eyes falling shut to chase his own orgasm, changing the angle slightly not to punish Dean’s prostate further. Dean braces and watches Mike’s head fall back, mouth hang open as he peaks. No, <em>this</em> is the image Dean wants to keep. Fuck, he’s beautiful when he comes.</p><p>Dean’s thought a lot about how he hadn’t understood he was bisexual before he slept with Mike. He’d come to the conclusion that he’s a dumbass. He’d called both Dad and Bobby to come out to them. That’s what you do, right? You tell people that are important to you so you know if you need to cut any of them out of your life if they can’t accept you. Sam’s out and proud so why shouldn’t Dean be? Right. Only both of those assholes had answered, ‘I know, Son.’ <em>Both of them!</em> And none of them had thought to inform him about it. Oh no.</p><p>Dad had known since he caught Dean and Peter making out in the car. ‘<em>A straight boy might have put up with a few kisses, Son, but you were going at it for almost an hour. I went out to ask if you needed condoms.</em>’ Like, fucking thanks, Dad. What the <em>hell</em>?</p><p>Bobby wasn’t much better. He’d known since Dean was eleven and the McMurphys moved in next door. Why? Because of Dean’s apparently <em>blatant</em> crush on Kellan, their oldest son. Well, it wasn’t fucking blatant to Dean, that’s for sure. Kellan is two years older than Dean and fucking awesome, so they’d hung out anytime Dad ditched Dean at Bobby’s. Whelp. Dean simply had to re-interpret every time he’d thought, ‘I get why girls dig him,’ about a guy, to, ‘I dig him.’ And, yeah. Okay.</p><p>But it hadn’t been an option. Sam hadn’t been flaunting his sexuality or shown any indication of having interest in anyone sexually back then. Dean chose hookups and girlfriends based on what would be most useful to keep life stable and drama free (sometimes failing spectacularly). Three times of getting his heart broken had taught him to keep his feelings out of any liaison. It doesn’t work in the long run, but he never <em>had</em> long runs. He’d simply learned how to put himself aside to get shit done and enjoy himself while doing it. Saving phone numbers, addresses, and photos in cloud storage and notebooks in case he’d roll into town again some day.</p><p>He’s still reeling from Nick’s declaration that this can be Dean’s home for two years. <em>Two years.</em> That’s fucking terrifying. It’s the great fucking unknown.</p><p>Mike sags against his back, wrapping his arms around his midriff. For a while they just stand there, catching their breath. Mike goes soft inside of Dean, slowly slipping out. Dean watches Mike through the mirror. He’s so beautiful, cheeks red, eyes closed, facial muscles lax, and the corners of his lips quirked up in the faintest smile. “We better get back or they’ll start to wonder where we went,” Mike murmurs.</p><p>“Why are we even hiding it?” Dean asks. “I thought you were out and proud? I sure as shit ain’t ashamed. If you told them, you could stay the night and bang me like a drum.”</p><p>Mike opens his eyes and lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze through the mirror. The faint smile remains, but his eyes are uncertain, guarded.</p><p>“Hey, look. I can do the whole sneaking around thing. It’s not like I’ve never fucked around with someone who’s hitched. I just want to understand why we’re creepin’,” Dean clarifies.</p><p>Mike pulls back and steps away to remove and tie off the condom, biting his lip, looking at what his hands are doing, not at Dean.</p><p>Dean takes some toilet paper to dry the lube off his ass and then pulls his pants up. Mike’s silence makes him anxious. “Wait. Are you still dating Alex? Is that it?”</p><p>Mike finally looks up. “No. I have my faults but cheating isn’t one of them,” he says and throws away the condom in the lidded trash can, then takes the dirty toilet paper from Dean’s hand to put over the used condom in the trash, hiding it.</p><p>“Then what is it, Mike? Come on, man, I just want to know,” Dean needles. “Why we creeping when you weren’t creeping with Sam?”</p><p>“My brothers will be unbearable if they knew. And you said you don’t want drama in your life. You’re living with Nick. Believe me, if he knows, there will be drama,” Mike says, visibly uncomfortable.</p><p>“So that’s it? You don’t want your brothers to tease you? They didn’t tease you when you were with Sam?”</p><p>“Sam was my boyfriend, Dean. But, if you’re interested in going steady―” Mike huffs in tired amusement and holds up his hands when he sees Dean’s expression, “Which you’re not. You told me that already.”</p><p>Dean drags a hand over his face, the ball of anxiety tightening in his gut. “Yeah, no. But I also said I’m a one-hit-wonder, yet I can’t keep my hands off ya when you’re here.” He sighs and rubs his neck. “I ain’t really a quickie kinda guy. If we’re gonna keep doing this I’d much rather prefer to spend the whole night with ya. But I ain’t ready for a steady relationship. Maybe I’ll never be.” He takes some more toilet paper to dry off his semen from the counter, throws the paper away then walks up to Mike and wraps his arms around him. “Look, I can’t promise feelings. I told you that already.”</p><p>“I know. But you ask why we’re creeping. It’s because I don’t want to put up with my brothers bullshit, and because I can’t look my ex, who happens to be my best friend, in the eyes and tell him I’m fucking his brother when it hurt him that I refused to go all the way with him. Now, if we <em>were</em> boyfriends, I could defend it. But not like this,” Mike says and interlaces his fingers behind Dean’s neck.</p><p>“Alright. I can get that.” The ‘Oh no, my brothers would tease me’ is a crap reason, but not the second part.</p><p>“What are you doing on Saturday? How about you come over to my place and stay the night?” Mike suggests.</p><p>Dean smirks with a small thrill of anticipation. “Play some music? Eat something? Watch a movie and then fuck like dogs on every surface in your apartment?”</p><p>“Yes to all of that.”</p><p>“Hell yeah, I’m coming over. But dibs on being the big spoon this time.”</p><p>“Forget it. I’m always the big spoon,” Mike counters, amused.</p><p>“Okay fine,” Dean grumps, secretly pleased. He gives Mike a brief kiss then gestures with his head. “Now, go on, git, or your brothers will figure us out. I’ll be down in a bit.”</p><p>Once Mike has left, Dean uses cleaning spray to wipe off the counter properly, then leans his ass against it and hangs his head, hiding his face in the palms of his hands. The Mike situation is getting sticky already if the boyfriend word is thrown around as an alternative. He knew he shouldn’t have hooked up with Mike again so quickly, but the dude was just so hard to resist.</p><p>
  <em>Two years.</em>
</p><p>That keeps hounding Dean. If Mike was someone he’d met back in the days, sure, he coulda played boyfriend for a week or three until Dad said it was time to skip town. But now it’s no game.</p><p>
  <em>I wonder if he’s got actual feelings for me?</em>
</p><p>The thought makes him grimace, the ball of anxiety growing and twisting in his gut.</p><p>If that’s the case, he could very well come to develop stronger feelings for Mike too, but they’re moving way too fast for him. Mike’s part of the core friends-group. A relationship will involve fucking <em>everyone</em>. Breaking up. Cheating. Having a fight. All of those things will make their friends and brothers put their noses in Dean’s business. Yeah, so maybe Mike’s smart about creeping.</p><p>
  <em>As if worrying about Sam’s problems isn’t enough?</em>
</p><p>Mike’s barely left the room and Dean’s already gagging for another go. The problem is, until Dean’s properly in love―something that takes time―he can’t commit. He’s too much of an attention seeker. Once he’s in love, nobody else will do, but before that he’ll end up ‘Oops’-ing it if he’s separated from his partner for too long. It’s easier to just tell them not to expect anything and break it off if they do. And what did he do right after Mike mentioned the BF-word? Agreed to a proper date.</p><p><em>Yeah, but I’m sticking around. And if he’s serious about the BF-thing, we </em>need<em> to date or I won’t get to a point where I can accept the title.</em></p><p>
  <em>Maybe it’s just a sex thing and I’m too dumbass to get it cuz he’s the only guy I’ve been with?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Okay. Planning a course of action. Speak with Mike on Saturday to see how serious he is. If it’s just the kickass sex for him, there’s no problem. We’ll creep and it’ll be fine. If he wants more then he’ll just have to accept that I’m seeing others until I’m good and fucking ready.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>He fucking hates hurting people’s feelings.</p><p>Why does the stupid fucker have to be so goddam hot?</p>
<hr/><p>
  <tt>Little Bird cringed at the growing pain. He was frightened. He’d never experienced this kind of pain before. After a while, he couldn’t stand the pain, and pushed himself out from under the shepherd and started running towards the mountain, straight into the howling storm.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt>“Hey! Where are you going, Little Bird?” the Shepherd called out.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt>Little Bird looked back to see the Shepherd get to his feet and start following, the white wolf and a monkey standing right behind him. “No! Leave me alone! Stay put!”</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt>The Shepherd gasped, but sat down, hanging his big head with sad eyes. “Okay…” he answered obediently.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt>Little Bird kept running, but the pain didn’t stop. The storm pelted him with cold drops of rain, and blew so strong it threw him to the ground and made him tumble in the muddy debris. His body was rapidly cooling, making him shake.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt>Suddenly, the White Wolf appeared. Little Bird screamed when it lunged for him.</tt>
</p><p>Sam leans back and closes his laptop. It used to be so easy to write about Little Bird. But now, it makes him want to cry. He’s got a lump in his throat that’s hard to swallow past. He knows how the scene will play out. Knows the pain Little Bird feels are his feathers growing out to replace the soft down, and that the wolf is really helping Little Bird, only, Little Bird can’t see it for how scared he is.</p><p>‘<em>You’re my little bird.</em>’</p><p>As always, trying to write about Little Bird makes him think of Nick calling him little bird. He misses Nick, but cringes at the thought of meeting him again. He misses Dean, but too often when he meets him he keeps thinking of Dean yelling accusingly at him for telling lies about Dad.</p><p>Maybe it’s a lie? Maybe Sam’s just imagined everything? Maybe he’s delusional?</p><p>That freaks him out. What if he’s just imagined most of his childhood? He can ask Dean to confirm some memories, but not the secret ones.</p><p>But how can he have lied when he <em>hasn’t told anyone?</em></p><p>Lack of sleep makes it hard to think. His head’s fuzzy, the ground feels spongy when he walks these days. It’s hard to concentrate in class. He’s so tired, yet sleep won’t come. He lies staring at the ceiling in the darkness every night. When he does sleep, his sleep is plagued with nightmares. Either that or he has strange sex dreams and wakes up neaseous or horny. Needy for something he can’t name.</p><p>He’s hit with the don’t-touch-me crawling under his skin too often, constantly sad for no reason, and hounded by negative thoughts; feeling dirty, used, gross.</p><p>Fearing his friends will see it, he avoids them as much as he can. He doesn’t really understand himself, because when he meets them, his spirit is lifted, at least temporary. It’s even worse with Dean. Sam wants to cling to him as close as humanly possible but if he tries, Dean pushes him away and says something like, ‘Woah, there. Personal space,’ or, ‘Jesus, Sammy, <em>chill</em>. People can get the wrong idea.’</p><p>Once a week, Sam forces himself to have lunch with Mike. He hasn’t got much of an appetite, but he’s afraid Mike will think it’s personal if Sam avoids him, so he goes to see him. Mike’s a steady point of comfort in Sam’s rapidly deteriorating life, and Mike has no idea.</p><p>Steve is the best friend one can have, and the worst. He can be kept at bay by telling lies. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I promised Mike/Dean/Nick to hang with them tonight.’ But you have to tell him before he comes knocking, because he’s stubborn as a mule, and won’t take no for an answer. ‘Alright, then I’m dibsing you tomorrow.’ Claiming he needs to study won’t help. He’ll just decide they’ll study together.</p><p>Sam has trouble focusing. He has nearly no energy, and when he reads, the words won’t stick. He’s falling behind in school for the first time in his life. Some days he can’t make himself get out of bed.</p><p>Those are the good days, when he doesn’t do stuff he regrets.</p><p>Other days, he <em>has</em> energy. Then he’s driven by a sense of panic, twisting inside his rib cage. He wants things to go back to normal, so he searches out ‘normal’ situations. Sometimes, it gives him a temporary rush of satisfaction, that comes with a crash later on, bringing that crawling sensation in his skin. Sometimes it puts him in that wonderful state of not feeling at all, like he’s walled away far in the deepest recesses in his mind. Numb to everything, able to focus, to smile and play along when meeting people.</p><p>He knows he’s hurting himself, doing these things. He’s not dumb. But he can’t help himself. He’s spiraling. The more lies he tells, the worse he does in school, the more he degrades himself, the more desperate he is to chase after ‘normalcy’.</p><p>It makes him feel even more sullied and used, too gross for the company of his friends.</p><p>His phone alarm beeps, telling him he’s got to get going or he’ll be late to meeting Mike for lunch. It’s tempting to just sit here and stare emptily into nothing until Kevin gets back from class, or simply go to bed and try to sleep.</p><p>But he still has the self-discipline to force himself out of the chair, put on his shoes, and grab his jacket.</p>
<hr/><p>Mike’s nervous, fiddling with his napkin, gaze skitting around like a cornered animal, smile uncertain. It’s been going on through the whole meal and it’s making Sam wonder if Mike saw him in that alley yesterday? Maybe something worse? What else can it be? Sam’s mind conjures up a list of things Mike might know about him that he’s ashamed of. Finally, Sam can’t stand it and breaks off the story he’d been telling about something that happened in class (it wasn’t true anyway) and says, “Okay, what is it? You’re making me nervous.”</p><p>“Oh. Haha. Um.” Mike drags a hand over his hair, slicking it down, and licks his lips. He takes a sip of water and smiles at Sam―it’s more a frightened show of teeth trying to mimic a smile. “It’s. It’s. Sam, I need to tuh-tuh-talk to you about something.”</p><p>It’s hard to keep a straight face when his stomach plummets, but Mike’s so nervous he doesn’t seem to notice Sam’s horror.</p><p>“Puh-puh-please don’t tell Dean what I’m about to tell you,” Mike says, eyes pleading.</p><p>“I won’t. I promise,” Sam says and swallows dryly.</p><p>“I, uh,” Mike looks down on the table and smooths the folded napkin over and over. “I’m in love with your brother,” he says, then looks up at Sam with frightened eyes.</p><p>Sam’s mind grinds to a stop. “That’s it? That’s why you’ve been nervous this whole time?” he asks. It can’t be, can it?</p><p>“Yes. I don’t want you to feel hurt, but I can’t help it. And, and, I don’t want to hide it from you. I’m sorry,” he says with an apologetic grimace.</p><p>A giggle of pure relief bubbles up from Sam’s core, it grows to a liberating laugh. Mike looks like he isn’t sure why Sam’s laughing, lips twitching in confusion. Sam reaches over and covers Mike’s hand with his own. “That’s great, Mike. I, I was expecting… I don’t know, something horrible.”</p><p>“You’re not hurt?”</p><p>On the contrary, this is the best news Sam’s had in a long time. “<em>No.</em> Oh, wait! Was it him you were talking about? That you dumped Alex for?” he asks excitedly.</p><p>Mike blushes, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.</p><p>Sam giggles again. “Then why didn’t you let me flirt with him through your phone?” he asks impishly. “Bet I could’ve reeled him in.”</p><p>“Sam, under no circumstances will I let you flirt with your brother through me,” Mike answers dryly.</p><p>“Oh, oh, we need to find out if he’s into guys! Maybe we can set you two up on a date,” Sam says, eagerly taking his phone out of his pocket to text Dean.</p><p>Mike chuckles, eyebrows raised in incredulous amusement. He reaches out and holds his hand over Sam’s phone. “Under no circumstances will I let you flirt with your brother <em>for</em> me,” he says, voice full of humor. “Yes, he’s into guys. I invited him to my place on Saturday. We’ll see how it goes.”</p><p>Sam puts his phone back and grins so widely his cheeks hurt. “You’re in love with Dean. How did it happen? Tell me everything! How do you know he’s into guys? Does he know you like him?”</p><p>Mike laughs and holds up his hands to stave off Sam’s barrage of questions. “He’s told me he’s into guys. I’ve been crushing on him since I first saw him, but we’ve been hanging out several times a week at Nick’s. Dean’s been jamming with us, and then we’ve had a few beers with Gabe and Nick afterwards. I just. He’s perfect. The better I’ve gotten to know him, the deeper I’ve fallen. But,” he holds up his finger for emphasis, “he’s said that he doesn’t do feelings, and that it takes a long time for him to fall in love. He’s described himself as a one-hit-wonder. And if you tell a guy like that you’re in love with him he’ll take off running in the opposite direction. So you can’t tell him. <em>Please,</em> don’t tell him.”</p><p>Sam bites his lip. “I promise I wouldn’t.” He frowns, suddenly concerned. “You said you can’t do casual if you’re in love. And if Dean only does casual…” <em>Oh no.</em></p><p>Mike leans back in his chair with a mournful sigh. “Yes, it’s a problem. But he said it’s not a principle thing for him. He said, and I quote, ‘I’ve been pulled up by the roots so many times I’m in a constant state of subconsciously bracing for heartache. Therefore it takes longer for me to fall in love.’ To me, it sounds like I’ve got a chance. Or what do you think?”</p><p>Sam tries to remember Dean and his girlfriends through the years. He doesn’t believe it for a minute that Dean doesn’t ‘do feelings’. Sam can remember at least three times Dean’s cried about girlfriends he’s had to leave. And several times when he’s been quiet and sad after they’ve moved. “Yeah. Dean gets attached. I think he pretends he doesn’t. I think, maybe it’s not so much that he doesn’t do feelings, as it’s that he doesn’t acknowledge them? If that makes sense?”</p><p>Mike nods. “That’s what I’m hoping.” He smiles, but his eyes are sad. “It’s going to be a pain to watch him flirt with others, but I’m hoping that if I can get him to spend time with me, maybe, just maybe, he might fall for me too.”</p><p>“Yes. He will. I can feel it,” Sam says with as much conviction as he can muster.</p><p>Mike throws his head back laughing. When he’s collected himself somewhat, he says, “Hoo boy, you just sounded like Nick when he’s got a particularly bad idea. I’m doomed. I’m soo doomed.” He looks happy, though, and that’s what’s important.</p><p>When Sam walks back his mood is sky high. His head’s full of plans on how he can get his best friend and brother together. He can’t think of better boyfriends for either of them. He loves them both and wants them to be happy.</p><p>He’s in such a good mood he doesn’t even look at the caller ID before he answers. “Sam Winchester, speaking.”</p><p>“Samster! My man! Saturday, your ass is mine,” Steve chirps.</p><p>“I’ve got cash on me. We can get a motel room and my ass can be yours today. For hours,” Sam counters.</p><p>“<em>Bro.</em>”</p><p>“Oh, come on, Steve. I haven’t gotten laid for ages,” Sam lies. “Be a bro,” he adds, then sniggers.</p><p>“That’s fucking gay. Do i seem like a fucking fag to you?”</p><p>“Now that you mention it… I’m gonna go with ‘yes’,” Sam teases.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Steve sniggers. “Ain’t getting nothing until Saturday. We’re going to Plankton. You know the new bar opposite McDonalds? And you’re coming. It ain’t optional, a’ight?”</p><p>“Alright. Pick me up at noon and we’ll hit the gym first,” Sam stupidly offers, mood boosted too much to think ahead and account for the darkness that’s been his life since the semester started.</p><p>“I’ll hold you to that. See ya then.”</p><p>Sam’s good mood lasts. He hasn’t been to the gym for weeks, but now detours for a visit there. He can skip another class. As long as he’s back by four to Lit. Kelvin will make a fuss if he doesn’t show up on time.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Are you into guys? If yes, are you into any of my friends? (It’s okay if you are)</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> What prompted this, Sammy?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Yeah, I’m into guys. Just discovered it but apparently Dad and Bobby have known for ages and not bothered telling me. Assholes.</tt>
</p><p>The answer makes Sam snigger. He should be paying attention to what Professor Marcus is saying, but his head’s too full of Mike and Dean so he’s hidden his phone behind a textbook and is texting instead. Besides, he’ll see Kelvin after class anyway.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Define into? You’ve got a bunch of hot friends.</tt>
</p><p>Sam has no intention of clarifying why he’s asking these questions. He figures being a little brother is reason enough.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Anyone of the guys you’d consider being with?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> What is this, Sammy? Does it matter? Define “being with”. Are we talking about sex? It is easier to just say that Andy is a hard no. The rest it’s just a matter of alcohol level in my blood, and opportunities presenting themselves.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> I’m not as big of a slut as I pretend to be. You know that, right? But you’ve got hot friends and they could entice me to ‘be with them’.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Who do you think is hottest?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> ??? Dude. I haven’t heard from you for days and now you’re barraging me with questions like a fucking high school girl. What’s next? Fuck, Marry, Kill?</tt>
</p><p>Not a bad idea, actually.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Yes. </tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Fuck it. Alright, I’ll play. Fuck Mike, Marry Nick, Kill Andy. God that asswipe is a pill. Do NOT hang out with him on his own.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Unless you suffer from insomnia. The guy’s so boring you’ll have trouble staying awake. Don’t tell him I said that.</tt>
</p><p>Sam frowns at his phone. Mike’s on that list, which is great, but Nick and Dean don’t get along and somehow Dean would marry Nick? He’s jealous and a bit hurt. If anyone was going to steal Nick from him, he’d accept it from Dean, but it still makes him sad. Better ask for clarification.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> You’d marry Nick? Why? </tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Dude, have you seen his house?! He owns a fucking castle for fuck sake. And the music room? Gnnn. Not to mention the yard. Just give me an afternoon to fix that mess and we could kick back with a nice barbecue every night.</tt>
</p><p>Sam chuckles in relief. Of course. Trust Dean to figure out the best way to support himself.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Besides, the fucker is growing on me.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Like fungus.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Mold, really. 😉</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> But you wouldn’t fuck Nick?</tt>
</p><p>So sue him, but Sam wants to be sure.</p><p>This time the answer takes a few seconds longer than usual. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Dean could be making dinner or paying for groceries or anything really.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Yeah, I would. If I was intoxicated enough.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> I mean, at some point I’m gonna pass out and then I wouldn’t be saying no. 😏</tt>
</p><p>The joke makes Sam wince, remembering his hitchhike from New York. For a brief moment he feels cold and clammy before he can get the reaction in check. It’s almost funny how getting roofied and what followed had bothered him less back then than it does now.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Just kidding, Sammy. Of course I wouldn’t fuck your fucking crush. Come oooon.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> If you couldn’t marry him, who would you pick?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Still Fuck Mike, because he’s scorching fucking hot, Marry Gabe, I think? He’s easy to spend time with. Still kill Andy.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> But honestly, with Nick out of the picture, Fuck and Marry are pretty interchangable. Both Mike and Gabe are easy on the eyes and awesome. Technically, Mike would be a better marriage candidate because of his apartment, but he’s too fucking hot not to have as the Fuck choice.</tt>
</p><p>Sam lets out an excited ‘Eeep!’-noise that makes the guy sitting next to him look over curiously. Sam gives him an apologetic smile. He can’t wait to show this to Mike. Mike definitely has a chance.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Your turn. Fuck, Marry, Kill your friends. You can’t pick the same for any of the spots.</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> I’m guessing Nick for the Kill spot, right? 😉</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Oh, ha ha. Very funny. Fuck Steve, Marry Nick (I don’t want to fuck him, I want to make love to him which is what you do when you’re married.)Kill… Oh no. I don’t know?</tt>
</p><p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> Then we’ll just fill in the blank with Andy. 😎 And that’s cheating. Nobody said anything about lovemaking, dumbass.</tt>
</p><p>Sam would’ve preferred to keep texting, but Kelvin utters a sharp, “Winchester,” forcing him to put his phone down.</p>
<hr/><p>As usual, his good mood doesn’t last.</p><p>“Can we go out? I want to do something,” Sam says while he pulls his pants up. He can feel semen running down his leg. He’s gonna have to change his pants as soon as he gets back to his dorm room. He’s tired of having to wash his clothes all the time just because Kelvin doesn’t bother with condoms anymore, seeing as Sam’s faithful to him and all. Hah. Sam <em>almost</em> wishes he’d catch an STD so he could give it to Kelvin.</p><p>Kelvin tucks his shirt into his pants and pulls up his zipper. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, Boo. I don’t have time.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean today. I’m just tired of this. We used to go out to have a coffee or something before, but now all we do is fuck twice a week. It’s not enough, Kelvin.” He’s seen the inside of Kelvin’s office more than he’s seen his brother since the term started. Twice a week the laptop is moved out of the way so he can brace against the desk. Twice a week his cheek is pressed against the mahogany surface and he gets to choose between turning his face right and seeing Kelvin's marriage photo, or left and seeing two photos of Kelvin’s daughter. All smiling and content, it’s just he who isn’t happy with the arrangement.</p><p>“I’m too busy. Too many papers to grade,” Kelvin dismisses and gestures at the stack of papers on the desk where they just had sex. Sam briefly considers that Kelvin’s also getting paid to have sex. It’s almost funny until Sam realizes that when Kelvin does it, he’s cheating the system, but when Sam does it, he’s the lowest of the low and could get jail time for it. “We’ll go out and do something in a few weeks. Besides, you’re not doing as well as you could. You need to study more.”</p><p>Sam loses his temper, crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Kelvin. “Fuck you. You’re not my dad. I have a life. I need to have a life! I’m not just a cum dump, you know?” Except, he feels like it. "I don’t deserve to be treated as one.” He has no idea where this indignant anger comes from but it’s short-lived, the words of defiance are barely out of his mouth before he shrinks back inwardly at the insubordination. But he keeps his defiant pose. It’s like flicking a match at gasoline and Kelvin’s temper flares in response. But Kelvin doesn’t yell at him. He argues. And he’s very convincing.</p><p>When Sam leaves fifteen minutes later he feels awful. He’s got a gnawing sensation of wrong in his gut and a guilty conscience for taking up so much of the busy Professor’s time. He’d apologised for being a selfish and demanding brat. <em>Of course</em>, he understands that a lot of students would be impacted if Kelvin didn’t diligently grade papers and do his job. Yes, he <em>knows</em> Kelvin doesn’t see him as a cum dump, and he shouldn’t ever use words like it to describe himself. He <em>knows</em> Kelvin cares deeply about him. He <em>understands</em> that’s it’s best if they’re not seen together so often. The list goes on.</p><p>Sam can’t sleep that night. He doesn’t get out of bed for two days aside from shuffling to the toilet. Kevin Tran side-eyes him and is nice enough to remind him he should eat something, but this has become standard by now and Kevin’s largely given up, ignoring Sam for the most part. Sam wants Dean to come fix everything. Dean’s one phone call away and Sam can’t bring himself to make that call. He’s too ashamed of all his failures, his behavior, and the messes he’s managed to get himself into.</p>
<hr/><p>Nick’s in a bad mood when he gets home from work. It’s nothing major; a bad interaction with a co-worker and then some assholes expressing road-rage and aggressive driving, purposefully making it dangerous for him to pass them on his bike. But he’s vibrating to release his annoyance at something. This is why the music room is so important to him. It’s an outlet, to prevent him from turning Darkside. Mike thinks he’s being overdramatic.</p><p>
  <em>But what does Mike know? He’s not the one struggling to be a good person.</em>
</p><p>Dean’s whistling ‘<em>Don’t Worry, Be Happy</em>’ in the kitchen. The living room floor is still wet, and the door to the music room is wide open, which means Dean’s spent most of the day playing instruments and just finished cleaning before Nick got home. Nick makes a resentful grimace at the clean floor. He just has to accept that their home is now one of those where you have to take your shoes off to enter. Sometimes he doesn’t―Dean’s mopping be damned―but Dean won’t say a peep about it. Nick loves coming home to a clean house that smells fresh every day, and he can see that Dean takes joy in housework: menial, physical tasks that come with the instant gratification of visible results. But he’ll have to wean Dean out of it.</p><p>He goes to the kitchen to announce his presence. Dean’s wiping off the side of the fridge with a wet rag. There hasn’t been a dirty fingerprint on frequently opened drawers and cupboards since Dean moved in. Looking at him now, Dean’s at ease, shoulders relaxed, the part of his face that is visible is set in a soft look of contentment.</p><p>Dean notices him come in, turns his head, and instantly goes silent. There’s a brief flash of alarm in his eyes before the mask clicks into place and he smiles. “Hi, honey, how was work?” he chirps and moves to the sink to rinse the rag. His shoulders are tense and the cheery demeanor a lie like it wasn’t before he saw Nick.</p><p>“Shit. People are trash,” Nick says and sits down by the table. “Get me the whiskey, will you?” he adds, testing the waters.</p><p>Nick’s gaze tracks Dean while Dean goes to the liquor cabinet and pulls out the requested bottle, then takes a glass from a cupboard and comes to deliver. Nick oozes resentment. Resentment towards Chuck, who’d forced him to take psychology in college. Resentment towards his siblings, who’d opened up to him and talked about their experiences to make him understand. But most of all, resentment towards himself, because there is one part of him who’d like nothing more than to throw the damn whiskey bottle at the ground and stomp out of here, just to feel the satisfaction of seeing Dean clean it up then scurry around the house to find what he’d missed, that might have caused Nick’s unexplained outburst, finally finding some imaginary dirt in a spot Nick definitely hasn’t cleaned ever since he moved in.</p><p>Dean’s everything Nick pinned him as. Manipulative, dishonest, a con man and grifter. But living with him, Nick’s been privy to other sides of him, and he’s a fucking case study for child abuse. Gabe had mentioned Dean’s ‘dad mode’. But Nick and Dean have another dynamic that <em>Dean</em> fell into the moment he perceived Nick as someone in power over him, that he’s dependent on. That’s why the obsessive cleaning needs to stop.</p><p>
  <em>Cue OCDing, riiight abooout nooow…. There it is.</em>
</p><p>Nick watches as Dean starts adjusting small things over by the sink. Their home can already pass a military inspection but Dean adjusts the towel so it hangs more decoratively, moves the dish soap a fraction, straightens the dish brush. He does it, because he picked up those minuscule cues in Nick’s body language that told him Nick’s in a bad mood. If Nick remains quiet for long enough, Dean will start whistling again, but it will be ‘Twisted nerve’ from Kill Bill. He’ll abruptly cut himself off the moment he realizes he’s making a sound. He’ll stick around for a bit as if he’s waiting for permission to leave then hide in his room or drive to the city.</p><p>His ability to notice Nick’s mood shifts is uncanny and no doubt developed from an early age. All these things put together tells him more about Sam and Dean’s upbringing than hanging with Sam had ever done.</p><p>Dean’s fucking terrified of their dad. When he looks at Nick he recognizes all the things he has in common with John Winchester, and Nick fucking hates it. Because <em>it’s there</em>. It’s in the impulses he gets that makes him stalk his exes or try to control them while he’s with them. It’s there in his wish to ignore Sam’s trauma and take him to bed. It’s there in the want to make a mess just to spite Dean. In how easily his bad mood translates into violent urges when he’s drunk. In thinking what an easy lay a girl would be when she’s so drunk she can’t stand. Or cornering Dean in the toilets for some light sexual harassment until he heard the actual word ‘No.’ uttered.</p><p><em>It’s our actions that define us,</em> the Mike-voice in his head reminds him. It’s why he bundles the drunk girls into cabs and sends them home instead of fucking their brains out, why he calls Mike if the urge to spy on Sam gets too strong, and why he backed away when Dean said no. He doesn’t want to be the guy he’s conditioned to be and he’s surrounded by great people who don’t give up on him when he slips up.</p><p>“So what have you been up to today?” Nick asks and pours whiskey in his glass.</p><p>“Huh?” Dean turns around and leans his ass against the sink.</p><p>“Grab a glass. Join me. Tell me about your day. My day sucked for no particular reason. I can do with some distraction.”</p><p>Dean takes a glass and comes to sit down. Obedient, but not with a submissive posture. Sticking your tail between your legs is provocative to some. Nick knows without asking that visible fear ticks John Winchester off, solely by watching Dean. “I haven’t done anything special. Fiddled around a bit with the reverb and effect pedals. I think I’m getting a hang of it.”</p><p>“Sounds a great deal better than my day,” Nick says and pours whiskey for Dean before taking a sip of his own drink. He’s quiet for a bit, watching Dean while trying to remain expressionless. “Do you do drugs? Be honest.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes narrow guardedly. “Are you looking for a reason to throw me out?”</p><p>Nick shakes his head. “No<em>o</em>,” he says with a disparaging tone. “That would be dumb. You’re the best housewife I’ve ever had. I just want to know.”</p><p>Dean snorts, then shrugs. “Not regularly but it happens. I’ll smoke a blunt now and then. I’ve tried coke. And once I tried acid, but that shit wasn’t for me.” He shudders at the memory and takes a big gulp of whiskey.</p><p>Nick tilts his head curiously. “Why do you do drugs?”</p><p>Dean purses his lips, watching Nick for a beat as if he’s considering whether to answer or not. “You know that pit of doom right here?” he asks and presses a fisted hand just by the sternum.</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Yeah, I like when it goes away. At least for a little while.”</p><p>Nick drags a hand over his face tiredly. Chronic anxiety. It’s definitely not something Dean shows outwardly, but it makes sense. “New rule. No drugs in the house. Or on the property.”</p><p>Dean sniggers. “Du-<em>uh</em>. I’m not that stupid. I ain’t gonna do nothing to deliberately provoke getting my ass kicked out. This is the best living arrangement I’ve had in my life.”</p><p>Nick hums. That’s the most disheartening fact Dean could’ve told him. Living with a human disaster that wrongfully accused him of stealing and attacked him on the first day, who’ll occasionally be an asshole just because he can. How could this be the best living arrangement? Maybe it’s the music? That’s just depressing. If access and permission to engage in a hobby is the answer to Dean’s contentment, then someone needs to cut John Winchester’s brake wires.</p><p>Nick follows an uncharacteristic impulse to be honest. “I’ve been sober for years. I started doing drugs at a young age, don’t remember exactly how old I was when I smoked my first joint, but I escalated to heroin when I was 17 and it almost ruined my life.” He notes Dean’s eyebrows raising in surprise. He’s already regretting telling the truth. He’s feeding Dean fodder to manipulate him. “I want to tell you not to do drugs at all, and to never be high around me. But, if you sashay in here once or twice a year, giggly and set on eating the full content of our fridge, I’m not going to throw you out. Bringing actual drugs here is the hard limit.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, of course,” Dean agrees seriously, nodding.</p><p>“And since you’re Sam’s brother, and I’ve got an emotional stake in your well-being, I might as well throw it out there that should you show signs of developing a drug addiction, we’ll do an intervention for you like my family did for me,” Nick adds, not realizing he means it until the words are already spoken. Fuck, he hopes it never comes to that.</p><p>Dean grins. “Thanks, man. I doubt you’ll have to worry about it, though. I fucking hate losing control the way drugs make you do.”</p><p>Nick smiles back, close-lipped and faux-lighthearted. “And if you tell anyone that I’m a washed-up junkie, I’ll kill you.”</p><p>“Gotcha. No inciting murder. Check,” Dean answers with a cheeky wink, doing finger-guns.</p><p>Nick tips his head back, studying Dean under heavy lids while he fingers the tablecloth absentmindedly, feeling the discreet raised patterns in the embroidery. He loves this one. The light yellow fabric with cream flowers at the edges. He never uses it because he hates to wash and iron it. He’s used those plastic ones that are easy to wipe off. But Dean had found his hopeful collection of curtains, table cloths and other home decor, and turned their home to a cosy abode. “How old were you when you got drunk the first time?”</p><p>“Okay, what is this? I <em>know</em> you don’t have a no-alcohol rule,” Dean says with a bemused smile and wiggles his glass pointedly.</p><p>“I’m in a foul mood and some asshole tried to pry me off the road on my way home. I want to take it out on <em>you</em> because you’re within reach,” Nick says, knowing the chance he’ll do it or get away with it will lessen if he voices his thoughts. “But you’ve declared that an angry-fuck is off the table,” <em>Now that would’ve been a delightful option</em>, “ you haven’t done anything to deserve to get your ass kicked, and I don’t want to be an asshole. So instead, a solution is that we have a drink to get to know each other better, then, when I’m no longer a pissbaby, maybe we can go in and play some music together,” he explains.</p><p>Dean's gaze is sharp and intelligent, gears grinding for a beat before he relaxes and smiles. "Alright. I'll play. I was twelve, one week before my thirteenth birthday. I was at a sleepover with four other guys. The parents weren't at home, and my friend's older sister who was supposed to watch us, threw a party instead. She was fifteen. I was taller than the rest of my friends so the people at the party thought I was one of them, not one of the kids. They handed me a beer and I got dragged into their crowd. That's also how I figured out how much more effective it was to make the right friends to keep potential bullies off Sam's back." Dean makes a dismissive gesture and sips his drink. "I got drunk, but not shitfaced, because a girl climbed onto my lap and kept me too busy. But the hangover sucked ass."</p><p>"What did your dad say when you got home?"</p><p>"Nothing. I don't think he cared. Plus, a year later on my birthday he was the one to get me shitfaced for the first time. We'd put Sam to sleep then he handed me a beer and declared me a man, then kept the beers coming," Dean sniggers.</p><p>Nick sniggers along, but inwardly cringes. If it was just one beer, it could be hand-waved away as a parent who wanted to oversee a kid’s introduction to alcohol. But it wasn't, and a sexual predator getting kids shitfaced gives him the heebie-jeebies whether or not they acted on the opportunity or not.</p><p>"How ‘bout you?" Dean asks.</p><p>"I was five."</p><p>"<em>Five?!</em> Now you're just shitting me. What? You ate too many liquor-filled chocolates or something?"</p><p>Nick shakes his head. "My uncle got me drunk. One night when he was babysitting me at his place he’d bought a bunch of miniature bottles of sweet liqueurs for me, and bigger bottles for himself, then served us both in matching glasses. A small crystal cordial glass for me and a wine glass for him. We played adult-party. I liked it. Pisang Ambon was my favorite drink, but in time, I’d steal anything I could get my hands on when I was at home, even if it tasted like shit and burned like hellfire, because I’d discovered the joys of not being sober. My parents were alcoholics and we always had alcohol at home. Moving on to drugs later on was as natural as breathing."</p><p>"The uncle, was it the guy whose dick you bit?"</p><p>Nick sputters. "Gabe's a regular little chatterbox, isn't he? Yes. It was. But if you breathe one word about it…"</p><p>"Yeah, no. I get it. Murder will happen," Dean answers and holds up his hands submissively.</p><p>“Remember that, because that’s not something I want everyone to know.”</p><p>“Dude. I’m not stupid.”</p><p>Nick glares at him then twists around to put his feet on the chair next to himself. “We’re not talking about the sex thing today, okay? Some other time, perhaps.”</p><p>“Nick, you don’t have to tell me shit like that at all if you don’t want to.”</p><p>Nick looks at him again and huffs in amusement. Dean’s tensed up, almost looking to be in pain. All that emotional intelligence he uses to so masterfully manipulating people currently channeled into visualizing what happened to Nick 24 years ago. Putting together the knowledge of Nick biting his uncle’s dick with his uncle getting him drunk. Nick thinks that maybe he’ll actually end up telling Dean. The full story, no less. Not because he needs to tell it, but because Dean might need to hear it. For Sam’s sake. “I know. And the thing I’m not going to talk about had already started by the time I got drunk the first time. I was starting to be a little bitch about it, not wanting to be around my uncle. So he’d come up with a solution.”</p><p>Dean drags a hand over his face, visibly disturbed.</p><p>“So. Next question,” Nick chirps with fake joviality. “When did you lose your virginity?”</p><p>Dean laughs, strained and relieved at the change of topic. “Easy. I was twelve, one week before my thirteenth birthday. I was at a sleepover.”</p><p>Nich sniggers. “That girl that crawled onto your lap kept you really busy, huh?”</p><p>“Uhuh. I was too drunk and it happened a bit too fast for me to get nervous that time. We made out then she pulled down my pants, shifted her panties to the side and sank down on me. It got me my first girlfriend,” Dean grins.</p><p>Nick scrunches up his face. “And she was fifteen?”</p><p>“Yup. She’d just turned. Hold on, I’ll show you.” He takes up and fiddles with his phone. “Just need to download the photo.” He hands over his phone to show a low resolution phone selfie of him hugging a girl from behind, both smiling. Nick would’ve pinned both their ages as 14ish, but might have guessed that Dean was the older one by his height.</p><p>Nick hums. “Fair enough. I was also twelve, and so was she. But if you’d seen us you’d have kicked my ass and called the cops on me. I easily passed for 15, but she didn’t. Come, I’ll show you.” He gets up, grabs his drink, and leads the way to his bedroom where he takes a scrapbook from a book shelf. “This is a treasure Chuck, <em>Dad</em>, gave me when I moved in here. If he’d given it to me earlier I would’ve burned it. Now, I consider it one of my most valued belongings.” He sits down on the bed and pats the space beside him. Dean comes to sit down with a curious expression. Nick takes a sip of his drink, puts the glass on the nightstand, and opens the scrapbook, quickly finding the right page. “Here. I’m twelve.”</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>Nick sniggers. “I know. I’ve always been big. Growing like fucking weed.” He flips a few pages back to briefly show even older pictures. All of them Chuck had gotten from Nick’s case worker and held onto in secret until Nick was no longer filled with perpetual rage, and could appreciate even the pictures of him with his parents and his hated uncle, solely for having a memento of himself as a child. Mike didn’t have pictures like it, but wishes he did. Ella had destroyed hers before she ended up at Chuck’s, and Gabe had clung to a photo album like a vice, wherever he’d been placed.</p><p>“I can see that. Sam’s the opposite. He’s always been a tiny little shrimp. Dunno how the fuck he ended up the tallest one.”</p><p>Nick flips forward to pages with photos of him after he came to Chuck’s and hands the scrapbook over. It doesn’t just contain photos. There are documents and mementos, things Nick wouldn’t have thought to save. Like his first report card with As on it. A key chain he’d made in workshop class, cutouts of his favourite bands that he’d kept pinned to his wall over his bed, just small things that Chuck had saved and made important by keeping them.</p><p>Dean’s mostly interested in the photos, cooing over how small Gabe was, remarking on how there isn’t a single photo of Mike without his headphones either on, or hanging around his neck, humming thoughtfully over Ella and laughing at Nick’s gelled up, spiky hair. “Woah. What happened here?” he asks and points at a picture of Nick and Mike, specifically at Mike.</p><p>Nick smiles broadly. “Confidence. That’s his first year in college. His stutter wasn’t so bad anymore and he dared to answer when spoken to, looking people in the eye. He started going to the gym rather obsessively and got picky about what he wore and ate. Luckily he took a chill pill before it went overboard.”</p><p>“It looks like the fairy godmother paid him a visit. Don’t get me wrong, he was cute and all before this, but here, it’s like, <em>whoa</em>.”</p><p>Nick chuckles and side-eyes Dean. “You into my brother, Dean?” Nick’s initial guess that Dean’s straight has long since been discarded. It’s not his flirtiness that gave him away, but his gaze going to places no straight man would look.</p><p>“I’m not blind. Dude’s hot. But don’t go all teenage gossip girl about it. I ain’t got the energy for that shit,” Dean answers dryly.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure you’re stirring up enough gossip all by yourself. Hey, do you have any pictures of you and Sam growing up?”</p><p>“Sure. You’ve got a laptop?”</p><p>That’s how Nick finds himself lying on his belly in bed, shoulder pressed to Dean’s, looking through pictures on Dean’s cloud storage, Dean telling him about their childhood: the good parts. Yet the bad parts are visible in the photos too. Dean happily talks about it, mostly, Nick thinks, because Dean doesn’t get that they’re bad. There’s one photo taken by their dad that says it all. 10-year-old Dean’s by the stove stirring a pot, grinning down at Sam who has an arm wrapped around his leg, reaching for a piece of carrot on the bench beside Dean. But Dean’s got defensive bruises on his forearms, and it’s the kind of picture Nick would expect to see of a parent and child. Many of them are. Dean pushing Sam on a swing, Dean reading to Sam with Sam cooped under his arm, Dean showing Sam how to tie his shoelaces. Hell, Dean’s gushing about it all the same way a parent would, happy that someone will listen. And Nick <em>is</em> happy to listen. It warms his heart to know that Sam’s had a parent that loved him unconditionally just for existing. It’s just disgusting that that parent had to be a kid that had to trade his childhood for the role of an domestically abused spouse, while Sam filled the role as a lover.</p>
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<a name="section0026"><h2>26. STEVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something has been building up in Steve. Sam's seen him react strangely to things Sam says, but he had no way of predicting what that would lead to when Sam makes a big mistake.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>-slurs<br/>-seriously. All the slurs.<br/>-use of the N-word<br/>-homophobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><p>Sam had tried to opt-out of going when Steve came to get him today, but Steve had bullied him to come along, and right now Sam’s glad he did. He misses going to the gym every day. Better yet, he’s just told Steve about the argument with Kelvin and Steve blew every one of Kelvin’s arguments out of the water. Sam’s <em>not</em> selfish or bratty for wanting more than fucking after class twice a week. If Kelvin was really worried about being seen grabbing a coffee with his students, he wouldn’t have done it before either. That part had seemed to make Steve more uncomfortable and the other parts but Sam doesn’t get why.</p>
<p>"We could stop by Green Leaf Motel and have sex," Sam suggests in the car after they’ve been to the gym. "I've got money and they rent by the hour." He hopes Steve won't ask how he knows that.</p>
<p>"Fuck no."</p>
<p>"Not horny?" Sam asks and raises an eyebrow curiously.</p>
<p>"Horny as hell. Still ain't gonna fuck you tonight," Steve answers as they stop the car for a red light.</p>
<p>"Is it because I said I wanted sex with feelings that night we talked on campus?" Sam asks, remembering Mike’s conclusion about how Dean might run in the other direction if he knew how Mike feels about him.</p>
<p>Steve wacks him lightly on the back of his head and scowls at him. "No, dumbass. It's because less than five minutes ago you told me you feel like a cheap, used cum dump. I ain’t gonna add to that with a quick fuck just to get off. Fuck sake. <em>Think.</em>”</p>
<p>Sam throws him a glare then looks out the side window. He’s about to argue how they <em>should</em> have sex to erase that feeling, which is why Sam suggested it in the first place. He holds back and considers that Steve might be right. Sam <em>thinks</em> it would fix the icky feeling that's plaguing him, but if he fucks Steve the same way he fucks his Johns, it would probably make it dirty, sullying what was pure instead of magically fixing it. "Could you hold my hand?" he asks instead and lays his hand between them on the console box.</p>
<p>Steve's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then he bursts into laughter. Sam is about to curve away, retrieving his hand with a sting of rejection, but Steve grabs it and laces their fingers together. Steve’s grinning, sniggering without saying anything for a full minute of driving, then, “Fuck, this is gay,” he says, pulls Sam’s hand to his thigh and releases it while shifting gear, then interlaces their fingers again right away.</p>
<p>“No homo, though,” Sam jokes.</p>
<p>Steve sniggers. “Nah, bro. Full homo. As homogay as it gets. It’s the most homo thing I’ve done in my fucking life.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Sam reassures.</p>
<p>“Hey, let me enjoy being a fucking fag for five fucking minutes, okay?” Steve says, voice annoyed but eyes twinkling with amusement and mischief. “Ain’t never held hands with a guy before.”</p>
<p>Sam smiles at him then looks out at the slow-rolling traffic. They’re going to Steve’s to grab a bite to eat before they head to Plankton, a newly opened club, to meet up with the others. He remembers seeing Steve on campus earlier this week and turns to look at Steve. “Hey, was that Ryan Jameson I saw you talking to on Wednesday?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. He’s in my economy class. Why?”</p>
<p>“Isn’t he gay?”</p>
<p>“Yup. He’s a fucking fag,” Steve confirms.</p>
<p>Sam’s lips pull up in a lopsided smirk. “Maybe not call him ‘fucking fag’,” he says, amused. “I personally don’t mind it, but…”</p>
<p>“Bro. He’s a fucking fag! He’s got a shirt with a fucking rainbow that literally has ‘I’m a fucking fag!’ printed on it!” Steve argues, letting go of Sam’s hand to gesture sharply back and forth over his shirt, then covers Sam’s hand on his thigh again.</p>
<p>Sam’s lips twitch in amusement. “I think it says, ‘Out and Proud’, but okay.”</p>
<p>Steve rolls his eyes. "<em>That's what I said!</em>" When Sam giggles Steve grins and winks at him.</p>
<p>“He’s good looking. You ever considered asking him out?”</p>
<p>“Fuck no. Sam, I don’t even look at guys if there’s a risk of being caught. The hell you think?” Steve shrugs. “He’s pretty cute. But he’s a bit too PC. You know one of those fuckers who's so woke their eyeballs have shot straight out so they can no longer see?”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>“There’s no nuances and context in their world. Like Angela when she goes off on me for calling you fag, or deciding that queer is off-limits. She’s read that somebody on Twitter got triggered by the word once and now nobody can use it. Fuck her. And fuck Ryan too. He’s got a way of talking that makes me feel like I’m the worst fucking person in the world because I don’t know about and adapt to every oppressed minority ever. Like the other day when I said my favorite mom used to give me Eskimo kisses when I was little, and he went off about Eskimo being a slur and meant snow-eater in Yupik. I don’t even get how eating snow is an insult, but how the fuck can I, when I don’t speak a language with 50 words for snow? It’s bullshit,” Steve rants, waving his hand haphazardly.</p>
<p>Steve sniggers and shakes his head. He adds, “But then the fucker will turn and walk away, and that ass in those black slacks of his?” he says and bites his lip over a smile. “That’s one fine ass and I’ll forgive him five minutes of public shaming. He can’t do worse than Dad anyway.”</p>
<p>“He does have a nice ass,” Sam agrees with an amused chuckle.</p>
<p>"He calls me Edgelord McMuffin."</p>
<p>Sam giggles. "Edgelord I get, but why McMuffin?” he asks in bewilderment.</p>
<p>“Easy, dumbass. It’s because I’m a salty snack,” Steve deadpans with a smug smirk.</p>
<p>It’s Sam’s turn to burst out laughing.</p><hr/>
<p>Dean’s having the best day in ages, and that’s saying a lot, because he’s been living the high life lately. When Dean said he wanted Mike to fuck him on every surface in the apartment, he hadn’t expected to be mauled up against the door the moment it was locked. But yeah. The welcome kiss turned into heavy makeout that turned into checking off the door from the list of every surface. Dean’s not complaining. Not even a little bit. Before dinner, he and Mike had plunked on the guitars and written a song together about a frog that was afraid of water. It was so silly they kept cracking up in giggles.</p>
<p>They moved to the couch after dinner, made out while The Man from U.N.C.L.E. played on the TV in the background. When it comes to dates, ‘watch a movie’ is just code for sucking face anyway.</p>
<p>One thing led to another, and now they can cross the couch off the list of ‘every surface’ too. Mike’s a comfortably heavy weight on top of Dean’s chest, sweat slicking their bodies, cooling down while they catch their breath. Everything is fucking perfect. Such a shame Dean has to ruin it. He has to, or he won’t get peace of mind.</p>
<p>“So… just want to check, but you’re not in love with me or some bullshit like that, right?”</p>
<p>Mike tenses up and lifts his head from where it had been rested against Dean’s collar bone, eyes wide and startled. Dean’s instantly regretting asking.</p>
<p>“Look, I just want to know where we at. If you’re in love I’ve gotta pull the plug on this or it’s gonna get ugly. I live with your brother and you come over several times a week. It won’t really fly if I end up breaking your heart, and you brought up the whole boyfriend thing,” Dean clarifies and strokes Mike’s back soothingly.</p>
<p>“Um. I’m not… I’m not really one to juggle several lovers at once. Being boyfriends, wouldn’t, um… It would be practical. I prefer a steady lover to one-night-stands. To me, this is, um. I’ve never dated someone who shares my interests before. I would lie if I said I don’t like you,” Mike answers, choosing his words carefully and uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Of course you like me. What’s there not to like?” Dean jokes. “I like you too or we wouldn’t be fucking in the first place. Not more than once, anyway. But right now with all that’s going on, moving in with Nick, Sam’s grades falling, lying to Dad―”</p>
<p>“Lying to dad?” Mike interrupts.</p>
<p>“Dude. He thinks I’m in Nebraska right now. Sam told me not to tell Dad where he is, and I talk to Dad a coupla times a week. I’ve been lying through my teeth. If he finds out I’ve found Sam and withheld his location? Let’s just say I ain’t got a deathwish and leave it at that. But we’re not talking about that right now. I want us to be on the same page, okay? If we got together right now, I’d cheat on you. I know I would. I don’t want that, okay? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like being an asshole,” Dean says with an added smirk on the last sentence.</p>
<p>“Nobody thinks you’re an asshole,” Mike says. He’s still tense, but slowly relaxing. “Except maybe Nick.”</p>
<p>“Still? Shit.” Dean’s mind instantly throws itself into the task of figuring out what he’s done wrong. If he’s said anything he shouldn’t, or done something that Nick would find provocative. He thought they were finally getting along pretty well. The perpetual knot in his belly stirs and twists. “I’ll fix it. Don’t worry. I just… Look, man, I <em>know</em> I get overly affectionate with people. I’ve had more than one hookup think we started something serious because of it. If that’s what you think, I need to pull the plug.”</p>
<p>Mike smiles and cranes his neck to place a soft kiss on Dean’s lips. “I like that you’re affectionate. It’s fine. I know you don’t want a boyfriend. It’s not a problem.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” It’s a relief. Dean really doesn’t <em>want</em> to pull the plug. “Then what do you say, next time I come over, you’ll let me cook for ya?”</p>
<p>Briefly, Mike’s expression is frustrated, but it shifts into amusement quickly enough that Dean’s unsure if he read it right. Mike smiles. “Absolutely. Looking forward to it.”</p>
<p>“Awesome.”</p>
<p>“You know what I like? I like to kiss until the body gets sensory overloaded, and you can feel lips moving on yours hours after you’ve stopped,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Dean grins. “Man, I’m lucky. That’s one of my favorite things.”</p>
<p>Mike’s smile turns predatory. He adjusts his position so they can kiss properly, and Dean’s more than happy to leave the volatile subject of feelings behind now that he knows this is casual for Mike too.</p><hr/>
<p>Plankton is the type of place Steve favors. It’s a large club divided into a dance floor and a drinking area with tables and a bar. The interior is sleek, shiny, with black glass-like plastic chairs and tables that look modern and expensive. The decor is inspired by the sea, but artsy and modernized, with led lights and neon colors, glowing fishes, kelp, seaweed, and sea horses all in geometrical shapes. There are bubbly glass dividers lit green that keep the volume from the dance floor down so you can talk without screaming yourself hoarse in the drinking section of the club.</p>
<p>Steve loves these places because he doesn’t have to choose if he wants to go out dancing or drinking. He and Annie can spend hours on the dance floor, often joined by Lisa and Brady. Sam’s not really a dancer, but has come along anyway sometimes. If nothing else, he enjoys watching his friends dance. He personally favors Pub Anchor. That doesn’t matter now because Steve hadn’t told him Nick and Gabe would be here too, and Sam got a hug that lasted three solid minutes from Nick when they arrived.</p>
<p>Sam wondered what they were doing there since Steve hasn’t got their phone numbers. Apparently, Steve had invited Dean who couldn’t come because he had a date, but Nick had gotten word of the invitation and heard Sam was going to be here, so here they are.</p>
<p>“Mike couldn’t come because he was ‘busy’, which is just another word for, ‘Oh no people are scary,’” Nick explained to him with a smirk.</p>
<p>“It’s always a dice roll with him,” Gabe adds. “If he’s having a bad day he might skip out on grocery shopping, but a good day he can go out clubbing. Luckily the bad days are getting fewer with each year.”</p>
<p>Sam grins through the explanation, realizing that ‘bad day’ has nothing to do with it and Mike’s Dean’s date.</p>
<p>They’ve been here for a couple of hours already now. Aside from Sam and Steve; Nick, Gabe, Ennis, Andy, Brady, Lisa, and Annie are here. Sam’s having a blast, wondering for the hundredth time why he keeps avoiding his friends when they make him feel good.</p>
<p>Sam’s sitting beside Nick, who has his arm on Sam’s backrest. Steve’s across from Sam, sipping his drink and scanning the room, temporarily distracted because Lisa had said she thought she’d seen Jane in the restroom, but wasn’t sure. Gabe gives Steve a backhanded slap on the upper arm. “Relax, Steve-o. If she shows up, Nick will chase her off for you.”</p>
<p>“I’d be delighted to do it. It’s too rare that I have permission to be an asshole,” Nick agrees with a blithe smile.</p>
<p>“Thanks, but I’d rather avoid detection altogether if it’s the same to you,” Steve counters. When his gaze sweeps the bar his eyes widen and he sinks down in his chair with an empathic, “<em>Fuck!</em>”</p>
<p>Nick looks towards the bar. “Where is she? I’ll make her leave the joint before she’s even spotted you.”</p>
<p>“It’s not Jane, it’s Cherry, Dad’s girlfriend.”</p>
<p>“Wasn’t she supposed to be at a spa event with her girlfriends tonight?” Sam asks in surprise. At least, that’s what Stephen Sr had said when they were at Steve’s place to eat.</p>
<p>“That’s what she said. Maybe getting wet counts as a spa event in her world. Fucking bitch,” Steve grumps, anger coming off him in fumes.</p>
<p>“We don’t like her?” Gabe asks.</p>
<p>“Fucking hate her,” Steve answers. “She keeps trying to make Dad mad at me. Fucking attention-seeking whore can’t handle when Dad’s nice to me.”</p>
<p>Sam leans forward to get a full view of the bar. It takes him a moment to locate her, solely because there’s a man blocking the view of her with his body. They’re making out. Sam sucks in a breath and leans back. “She’s cheating,” he states in surprise.</p>
<p>“No shit. I wish she’d burn in hell. If she’s gonna mooch on Dad she should at least be faithful Like, it’s only two years, bitch, suck it up,” Steve answers disgustedly and downs his drink.</p>
<p>“You want her to pay?” Gabe asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Gabe answers lightly and gets up.</p>
<p>“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Nick admonishes jokingly.</p>
<p>Gabe sniggers. “You’re setting the bar so low I’d have to dig underground to find it,” Gabe counters and leaves the table.</p>
<p>“But he cheats on her?” Sam asks Steve, not paying any attention to Gabe leaving. He’s pretty sure Steve had told him that.</p>
<p>“Two wrongs don’t make a right, Samster.”</p>
<p>“Besides,” Ennis chimes in from the other end of the table, “it’s not like she knows she’s gonna be replaced.”</p>
<p>“Exactly. Materialistic cow,” Steve mutters, then immediately turns towards Annie and holds up a hand placatingly. “Nothing wrong with wanting nice things or letting your boyfriend pay for them.” He points behind him at the bar. “It’s doing <em>that</em> behind the guy’s back that’s fucked up. Like, if you think your guy’s cheating, dump his fucking ass instead.”</p>
<p>Sam leans against Nick’s shoulder with a small smile. He thinks Steve and Annie’s relationship is sweet. Annie works her ass off to buy expensive clothes, bags, and shoes. If she could date a rich guy that brought her gifts, she’d be delighted. But even angry and resentful, Steve took care to make sure she wouldn’t feel the sting of his comments. And when Annie got pissed she was more foul-mouthed than Steve and Nick put together.</p>
<p>The discussion moves on to a more philosophical take on morals, and whether it’s right or wrong to cheat on someone who’s cheating on you, and then on to open relationships. Sam doesn’t say much, too focused on Nick’s thumb caressing his shoulder, his arm warm against Sam’s shoulders. He throws occasional looks at the bar. Cherry and her lover disappear, and not too long after that Gabe returns, looking mighty pleased with himself.</p>
<p>“What did you do?” Nick asks his brother.</p>
<p>“Nothing. Yet,” he says and holds out his phone to Nick.</p>
<p>Nick looks at it, face splitting up in a wolf’s grin. “Ho ho. Well, would you look at that,” he purrs. Sam leans closer curiously, to see Nick scroll through a bunch of photos. The first ones are just of Cherry making out by the bar, but the last ones show very clearly where Cherry disappeared to with the man, seeing as they’re taken under the stall of a toilet and there’s no peeing going on. Cherry won’t be able to claim ‘It was just a kiss’, that’s for sure. “Look at you,” Nick says to Gabe, handing the phone back, delightful and smug. “It was a difficult thing to do, yet you managed to dig yourself down to my level.”</p>
<p>“I’ve had a lot of practice these last couple of weeks,” Gabe answers and wiggles his eyebrows. “Speaking of, I’m bringing your camera back next time I come over.”</p>
<p>“About time. And you better not have scratched it,” Nick says threateningly, but too relaxed to be taken seriously. Nick turns his head and nuzzles Sam. “You want to dance, darlin’?”</p>
<p>Goosebumps erupt on Sam’s neck. He isn’t very interested in dancing, but how could he say no? “Yeah. Sure.”</p>
<p>It’s a mistake to say yes. The music here is loud and pulsing, not the kind you can sway and shuffle your feet to. Sam’s bad at dancing. He wishes he’d paid more attention to Dean. Anytime they had a full-body mirror in their home, Dean would put on music and dance, looking at the mirror, often miming as if he was giving a performance. Sam usually sat cooped up closeby or in another room when Dean did that. In his late teens, Dean had been on the cheer-leading squad in at least two schools. Sam remembers that because Dad had remarked that it was girly. Dean had grinned and answered, ‘Don’t give a fuck. I get to bone more cheerleaders than the quarterbacks, and the jocks don’t see me as a threat. As long as that’s the case, I’ll even slap on a skirt if they want me to.’ Both Sam and Dad had laughed at Dean’s bright-eyed enthusiasm. Now Sam wishes he’d asked Dean to teach him to dance.</p>
<p>Skill, it turns out, isn’t really needed after a few minutes when Nick grabs his hips and pulls him close, face to face. All it takes is bending his legs slightly and rolling his hips in beat with Nick, hooking a hand around Nick’s neck not to stumble. Nick’s smiling at him, warm and pleased, eyelids low, and every hip-roll births more butterflies.</p>
<p>The longer they dance, the closer they get. Nick nuzzles Sam’s nose playfully―Eskimo kisses, but you’re not supposed to call it that―so Sam tilts his head, heart in his throat, trying for a kiss. Nick pulls back his head with a grin, then leans in to the side to talk to Sam straight by the ear, raising his voice to be overheard over the pumping bass. “Nu-uh-uh. We’re supposed to get to know each other well first, sweetheart. But you, you asshole, have been avoiding me. No kisses for you,” he chastises, then leans back to look Sam in the eyes with an impish grin.</p>
<p>Sam’s heart does somersaults. Nick said he wouldn’t acknowledge what he’d said when he walked Sam home that night, but he is. He still means it. He still likes Sam that way. Sam leans in to speak by Nick’s ear. “Then how about a BJ?” he jokes.</p>
<p>Nick throws his head back laughing. The loud music steals most of the glorious sound, but he looks soft, and free, and happy. Sam’s so in love it hurts, grinning at him so his cheeks ache.</p>
<p>“No. You dimpled little shit,” Nick yells, pulls him in for a brief kiss on the forehead, then grabs his hand to lead him off the dance floor. When they’ve passed the glass dividers the volume once again allows for talking. Nick turns to him. “I need to pee. Go sit with the others. I’ll get us drinks on the way back. Oh, and sweetheart, nothing’s gonna happen between us tonight, but God knows, I’m gonna toe the line,” he says, then lets go of Sam’s hand to cup his cheeks and quickly lean in to ghost his lips over Sam’s, giving nothing but a hot breath Sam inhales with a sharp intake. Then Nick lets go, sniggering, winking mischievously, and walks towards the toilets.</p>
<p>Sam’s left standing, smiling like a loon, fizzy bubbles of elation dancing in every cell. It’s all he can do not to jump up and down, squeeing like a girl on TV.</p>
<p>He takes a moment to gather his wits before he heads for the table, smiling at the floor as he walks, head full of Nick Nick Nick. He’s just alongside it when someone blocks his way. “I thought it was you,” the female voice says coldly.</p>
<p>He looks up and finds himself face to face with Cherry. He’s met her twice before, and she’s never been anything but polite, but now her face is twisted in a disgusted grimace.</p>
<p>It hits him then.</p>
<p>He fucked up.</p>
<p>He’d promised Steve he’d always act completely straight around people that know Steve’s dad. He forgot, because this was his own turf, surrounded by friends, out to have a good time. Seeing Cherry hadn’t meant a thing to him. Guilt doses him like ice water through his veins.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>“Cherry,” he greets cordially.</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t you take my name in your mouth you disgusting piece of human waste,” she sneers. “You homosexuals should all be shot. You’re everything that’s wrong with this country. You’re what’s destroying the old fashioned values with your agenda. You corrupt the youth and your very existence is an offense to God. God, you’re so gross, shoving your homosexuality in our faces so decent people can’t even get a drink in peace without having to see it. You’re never again setting foot in our house. I can’t believe you managed to fool Steve into being friends with you. <em>Disgusting.</em>”</p>
<p>Sam’s eyes flick towards the table, looking for a clue of what he should do. Frozen by fear of what he’s done, buckling under the onslaught of bad conscience. His friends have gone silent, noticing what’s going on. Steve’s eyes are dark with anger. Rightfully so, considering Sam’s blunder.</p>
<p>Steve downs his drink and gets up with a sneer. “Shut up. Watch how you talk to my boyfriend, you worthless cunt,” he says, grabs Sam’s hand and pulls him behind himself, glaring at Cherry, jutting his chin defiantly.</p>
<p>
  <em>What? No! I fucked up, you shouldn’t defend me!</em>
</p>
<p>“Your <em>boyfriend</em>?” Cherry’s eyes widen in shock.</p>
<p>“Yeah. So? I’m a fucking fag. Whatcha gonna do about it?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh no.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No no no no! Please, don’t do this!</em>
</p>
<p>But it’s too late. Steve’s already done it. Sam can’t feel his hands. He’s cold and clammy. His mind tells him to run but his feet are rooted to the floor.</p>
<p>Steve’s not done. He tugs on Sam’s hand to make Sam stumble a step forward, then turns, wraps his arm around Sam’s neck, and tugs him down for a filthy kiss that Sam reciprocates on autopilot.</p>
<p>When Steve lets go to face Cherry again Cherry’s wearing a malicious smirk, “My my. I’m telling your father,” she purrs.</p>
<p>“I expect nothing less from you, you sadistic piece of cheap trash. Now get the fuck out of here before I give you the same treatment as Dad will give me, you fucktard.”</p>
<p>Cherry backs away, the malice in her written plainly on her face, then turns and hurries towards the exit.</p>
<p>Everyone starts talking at once. Distantly, Sam notes that Gabe, Brady, and Ennis have all stood up as if ready to do <em>something</em>, and he sees Nick stand halfway between the bar and their table, holding two glasses, watching them with a blank face.</p>
<p>Steve sits down, yanking Sam with him, refusing to let go of his hand.</p>
<p>The questions directed at Steve keep coming but Sam’s struggling to breathe as his mind goes through the consequences of what just happened. Steve’s lips are compressed to a thin line. He’s frowning, but when he swallows the sound is sticky and dry, and the vein on his throat shows how rapid his pulse is. He pulls Sam’s hand onto his thigh like in the car. Steve’s hand burns lava-hot to Sam’s frozen one, both of them slick with sweat. Steve’s gaze darts between their querisome friends, not answering. He’s afraid, more than he’s angry; it’s in his eyes. He squeezes Sam’s hand.</p>
<p>Words finally catch up to Sam, prying past the terrified lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I broke my promise. I’m sorry. I fucked up. You should’ve let her go off on me. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Steve scrunches up his face in a grimace and turns his head to give Sam a ‘wtf?’-look. “Bro. I ain’t gonna let some jumped-up trailer-trash conservative bitch shred you. No way, man.”</p>
<p>“But it would’ve been better!” Sam insists. “The worst thing that could happen to me was that I wasn’t welcome to your house. You said that if your dad found out he’d kill you! You said he’d cut your funding for college and throw you to the street if he found out! I’m not worth it!” he argues pleadingly, knowing it’s already too late. The group around them have fallen silent, uneasy, shocked, as horrified as Sam is.</p>
<p>“Fuck you, Sam. You don’t determine what you’re worth to me. <em>I do.</em> See this?” Steve lets go of Sam’s hand to pull up his shirt, exposing a bruise big as a plate over the ribs, black, red, and purple, still raised and glossy tender. “This is my fucking everyday, Samster. He’ll end up killing me sooner or later anyway.” He drops the shirt, takes Sam’s hand again, and gestures at Ennis without taking his eyes off Sam. “He broke three fucking bones in me when he found out I was friends with a nigger. He’s one fashion choice away from being a clansman, but you don’t see me abandon Ennis because of it, do you?”</p>
<p>Nick sits down opposite Steve and pushes a drink into Steve’s hand with a grave expression. “So it’s true? What Sam said about the dangers you’re facing?”</p>
<p>Steve tilts his chin up defiantly. “Yeah, so? What about it?”</p>
<p>Gabe answers. “Then this is what’s going to happen now. We’ll go to the ATM across the street and make the biggest withdrawal you can make on your credit card. Then we’ll call a big cab, that’ll fit all of us that are willing to face a possibly violent confrontation. We’ll all go with you. There’s still a great chance that we can discredit Cherry and de-escalate the risk to you―”</p>
<p>Nick chimes in, pointing at Steve’s side, “But with that, I’m not letting you stay another night under your father’s roof. I’m moving you into my place whether you have to drop out of college or not, and it isn’t optional. We go in, pack a bag of your essentials; clothes, important papers, photos, teddy bears, whatever, and leave. Tomorrow we’ll get you a new phone card, in case he closes your account. Your safety comes first. You understand?”</p>
<p>The defiance in Steve’s waning, fear starting to take overhand. He swallows, nods, and lifts his glass to drink it half-empty.</p>
<p>Sam’s struggling not to cry. It’s his fault, but he’s seeing a parachute unfold, stopping Steve from free-falling. The way Steve’s eyes dart between Nick and Gabe; Steve didn’t even know he was wearing it.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s decided to leave the girls behind because of the risk of violence. Mostly because if Annie got to come with, tonight’s outcome would be a double homicide without question. She’s murderous in the wake of the revelation of Steve’s physical abuse. Nick puts his foot down. “The main objective is to get Steve out of the situation safely without any of us ending up in jail. I don’t need someone like you firing me up, egging me on. You want to be there for Steve, you can meet up with us afterward, okay?” he tells Annie, who grudgingly agrees.</p>
<p>In the cab―a passenger van―Sam and Steve sit squeezed in between Nick and Gabe in the back, Nick sitting on Steve’s other side, one arm behind him, turned towards Steve as much as the seat belt allows. Steve’s still holding Sam’s hand on his thigh, thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth. Brady, Ennis, and Andy sit in the row in front of them, all turned towards Steve. The air is tense, but now the guys dare to ask questions again.</p>
<p>“Are you really gay?” Ennis asks. He’s been very quiet since Steve came out.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I’m a faggot. What about it?” Steve answers with that defiant tilt to his chin. Nick’s hand shifts to cup Steve’s shoulder, fingers rubbing comfortingly, offering physical support.</p>
<p>“Are you two an item?” Brady asks, eyeing Sam and Steve uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Nah, bro. We’re just bros with benefits. We’ve been fuckin for months,” Steve answers.</p>
<p>“Since when are you gay?” Ennis asks.</p>
<p>“Since always, dumbass. The hell stupid question is that? It’s not a fucking disease you catch on the bus. Fuck sake.”</p>
<p>“But I’ve seen you have sex with girls. How does that even work?” Andy chimes in.</p>
<p>“It’s like a fucking magic lamp. You rub it, stuff comes out. I don’t have to like it,” Steve answers flatly. “It ain’t that hard. Close your eyes and think of a hot guy.”</p>
<p>“Have you, um… have you ever watched us in the shower?” Ennis asks carefully.</p>
<p>Steve thumps his head back on Nick’s arm, crossing his eyes briefly as if saying, ‘Why must you ask such stupid questions?’ He looks up and levels Ennis with a sleazy smirk. “Bro, excluding the driver, I have at one point or another jerked off thinking of each and every one of you in this cab.” Nick sniggers and Ennis tense up. Steve frowns in annoyance. “But I’m not a fucking creep. Ain’t ogling fucking anyone in the shower. Come on, you know me better than that. Fuck sake, Ennis. I was too busy hiding bruises.” He tilts his head, face smoothing out. “But I had the biggest crush on you the two first years we knew each other.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever sought medical attention for the injuries your dad inflicted on you?” Gabe asks, saving Ennis from having to answer.</p>
<p>Steve turns his head towards Gabe and frowns bemusedly. “Du-<em>uh</em>. He’s been using me as a punching bag for as long as I can remember. He’s stronger than me. Some things don’t just heal without a trip to the hospital. He had me blame everything from martial arts practice to car accidents.”</p>
<p>“What does he do for a living?” Gabe probes.</p>
<p>“Hedge Fund management. The fuck do you want to know that for?”</p>
<p>But Gabe doesn’t have time to answer because Andy’s set on asking the dumbest questions of the night. “When you have sex,” And says, gesturing between Sam and Steve, “Who of you is the woman?”</p>
<p>“Oh, for crying out loud,” Nick says, face scrunched up in annoyance. “You clearly don’t understand the fundamentals of same-sex attraction.” He takes a deep breath and says with very fake patience, “When a man has sex with another man, they’re both men. That’s the point.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but…how…?” Andy holds up his index fingers on both hands and bumps their tips against each other with bewildered confusion.</p>
<p>Sam can’t help it. A giggle comes bubbling up. Then another. Beside him, Steve starts to snigger. Soon they’re both laughing and dragging the others with them. Even Andy, very flustered now, chuckles.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I just don’t get it,” Andy says and scratches his neck with his head bent.</p>
<p>Sam takes pity on him. “When I tell you I’ve had sex, I’m talking about anal sex. As in, taking it up the ass.”</p>
<p>Andy makes a yikes-expression. “Dude. Sometimes it hurts when I take a dump. I can’t even imagine what that must feel like.”</p>
<p>The air gets tense again when they’re entering the fancy neighborhood. Nick dictates a game-plan. If they’re not met with resistance, they’ll all go with Steve to pack his stuff, but if Steve’s dad shows up, Sam and Gabe will go with Steve to help him pack, and Brady, Nick, Ennis, and Andy will remain with Steve’s dad to stop him from getting violent. They stop outside Steve’s house and tell the cab driver to wait. Nick and Steve lead the way up to the door. Steve’s visibly tense and nervous now. It’s so uncharacteristic it’s strange to see.</p>
<p>Sam’s heart rabbits in his chest. One look around shows everyone looks nervous or determined. The only one who seems calm is Nick, whose expression borders on boredom.</p>
<p>The door opens as soon as Steve puts the key in. Steve stumbles back, all pretense of bravery traded for terror.</p>
<p>Steve’s dad blocks the way in. Sam’s met him many times, but never with the polite mask off, like now. This is the man Steve looks at and stubbornly decides not to be like every morning. He takes in the group with cold eyes before his gaze lands on Steve with icy disdain. “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>Steve’s mouth opens, but no words come out.</p>
<p>“We’ve come to retrieve your son’s belongings,” Nick says cooly.</p>
<p>Stephen Sr shifts his chilly disdain to Nick. “I have no son.”</p>
<p>Maybe if Sam hadn’t been standing so close he might not have seen the small jerk, and the flash of hurt overtaking the fear on Steve’s face. But the way Steve shrinks in on himself is visible to all. There isn’t a single trace of his usual ‘Come at me, Bro!’-attitude.</p>
<p>“Now leave, before I call the police,” Stephen Sr looks back at Steve with a sneer. “I won’t let a fucking faggot enter my home.”</p>
<p>“Faggot? Who told you that? Your girlfriend?” Nick asks, cool as a cucumber, as if this was just any other Saturday night to him. “She’s lying. She made that up.”</p>
<p>Stephen Sr snorts contemptuously. “That dumb cunt doesn’t have enough imagination to make something like this up.”</p>
<p>“Oh, really?” Nick holds out his hand behind him and Gabe slaps his phone in Nick’s hand. Nick holds the screen up so Steve’s dad can see it. “We are talking about the same woman, right? This one?” He swipes on the screen, “Or this?” swipe, “Or this one?” swipe again. Stephen Sr’s eyes darken, his face flushes crimson and the veins in his temples start pulsating. “See, we met her and caught her red-handed whoring around behind your back. That tends to be a pretty great motivator to be creative, and the risk of Steve ratting her out would diminish considerably if you repudiated him the moment he showed up, don’t you think?” Nick says.</p>
<p>Stephen Sr turns his head to look inside, jaw ticking the way Dean’s does when he’s angry and controlling his temper.</p>
<p>“It’s true, Dad. She’s cheating on you,” Steve says, then lifts his chin bravely. “But I’m still gay.”</p>
<p>Sam wants to scream at him, ‘What the hell are you doing???’ Everyone looks at him, but Steve valorously, fearfully, digs his heels in, refusing to let himself be stuffed back in the closet he so vociferously stomped out of earlier tonight.</p>
<p>Nick hums and looks back at Stephen Sr. “So we’re going to go in and get his stuff, and then leave.”</p>
<p>“No. He doesn’t own anything. I’ve paid for everything. And no faggot gets to enter my home. I repeat, get off my property or I’m calling the police,” Stephen Sr says, calm and curt, cold-eyed.</p>
<p>Nick smiles, fake-friendly and unruffled. “Good idea. That’ll get us the opportunity to explain the bruises on Steve’s body. And they can come inside and get his passport and birth certificate, seeing as denying him those is a federal crime. And maybe later they can drive him to the hospital to request his medical records. You know, those that document a long history of severe physical child abuse?” he says in an amicable tone. “I know, I know. The statute of limitation has already passed for the crimes against him when he was a child. But you can still be persecuted for your recent assaults.” Nick hums thoughtfully. “Of course, you might win the case. A respected hedge fund manager like yourself who has a good reputation and with no prior criminal record? You might get off scot-free in a court of law. In that case, he’ll simply have to present his case to the public. Not that what happens on Twitter could possibly affect you in any way.” He scrunches up his nose in skeptical curiosity and tilts his head. “You’re not reputable enough for the newspapers to care about you, are you?”</p>
<p>Stephen Sr is still angry, but the disdain in his eyes has been exchanged for distress. His chest heaves, while he remains standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He steps aside and looks at Steve. “Be quick about it,” he says curtly.</p>
<p>Sam grabs Steve by the shoulder to get him moving and Gabe, Sam, and Steve hurry up the stairs and past Steve’s dad. Sam keeps himself between Steve and his dad, just in case, but the older man remains still.</p>
<p>“You know it isn’t true, right? When you buy things for your kids you give them as gifts and the owner isn’t the person who paid, but the person who received…” Nick’s voice fades behind them as they hurry up to Steve’s bedroom. The longer they remain, the higher the risk of violence becomes.</p>
<p>They’re fast and efficient, packing in two large travel bags and several plastic bags since Steve has a lot of clothes. They leave things that are easily replaced and lack value like basketballs and books. Gabe and Steve scurry off to the office to get the passport and birth certificate, then climb to the attic to get a cardboard box with knick-knacks Steve’s made in school. Cherry sticks her head out from the bedroom to direct a mean smirk at Steve. He mutters, “Bitch,” at her and continues on.</p>
<p>“Who’s on the ownership papers of your car?” Gabe asks.</p>
<p>“It was a birthday gift. So I am,” Steve answers.</p>
<p>“Good. Then give me the keys and I’ll drive it. This might be the only chance we get to take things from here. Did you take a photo album?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Then let’s go.”</p>
<p>Andy and Brady come to help them get the stuff down the stairs and carry it outside. Nick and Stephen Sr are locked in a battle of wills that Nick’s already won. Steve’s dad doesn’t make a move to stop them from leaving.</p>
<p>Nick backs down first when everyone’s outside, packing the cab, and Gabe’s already starting Steve’s car.</p>
<p>“I’m not paying the college tuition for some degenerate homosexual,” Steve’s dad shouts, then slams the door shut.</p>
<p>The cab ride is silent for the first stretch of road once they’ve left. Sam can feel Steve’s hand trembling in his. Unlike the tense ride there, now it’s like a heavy led-blanket press down on them.</p>
<p>The silence remains for nearly ten minutes before Brady breaks it. “Hey, Steve… Can I ask you something?”</p>
<p>“Shoot.”</p>
<p>“Why did you decide to come out today?”</p>
<p>“Bro,” Steve scowls. “You know why. You were <em>there</em>.”</p>
<p>“No, I…” Brady twists around as much as the seat-belt allows him and hooks an arm over the backrest, looking at Steve. “You’ve always been one of the most ballsy people I know. But… you’re rarely stupid about it. And, you could’ve stood up and said ‘Don’t talk to my best friend that way.’ But you didn’t. You said, ‘boyfriend’ and then kissed him. You knew what was going to happen. And you’ve been really good at hiding this part of you. I can’t help but think this was a deliberate choice on your behalf. Or am I wrong?”</p>
<p>Steve’s frown goes from annoyed to uncomfortable. He averts his gaze and makes several false starts before he finally speaks. “The first time Sam and I had sex I said, ‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll,” and he filled in, ‘Kill me. Yes, yes, I know.’” He turns his head to direct himself to Sam. “You looked at me like I was some fucking poor, sheltered child with no idea how the world works, and you said you’d been with loads of guys, then asked me if I could name one. Do you remember that?” Sam nods. Steve looks at Brady. “Not one. Not a single fucking one before Mike. Sam says he doesn’t mind. He gives good reason for it. They have to hide because it ain’t safe and whatever. And it’s true. But not <em>one</em>? Fucking come oooon. Sam’s fucking awesome. He’s nice, and forgives your bullshit, he’s hot and cute, empathic, always there if you need him. I want fucking bragging rights, okay? I <em>hit that</em>.” He twists towards Nick and with a sly, teasing smirk says, “Beat you to it. <em>Hah</em>.”</p>
<p>Nick sputters and leans away, staring incredulously at Steve like, ‘How dare!’ making everyone laugh. Even Nick’s lips twitch with humor after the initial insult.</p>
<p>“Seriously, though,” Steve goes on, directing himself to Brady. “When Sam figured me out and I suddenly could talk to someone, it was like breathing air all of a sudden after having been submerged for-fucking-ever. I was happier, freer, and felt better about myself. Yet I too put a gag on him. He says he doesn’t mind, but it’s a fucking lie.” He looks at Sam. “I’ve seen how it affects you. Everyone else has prioritized themselves and your self-esteem is nosediving. I see it. And it ain’t fucking right that you set me free but I drag you down. Bros for life, a’ight?”</p>
<p>Sam has to look away, lips wobbling, a lump growing in his throat.</p>
<p>“Come on, Sam. Don’t blame yourself. I coulda told you not to cozy up with your boyfriend when I saw Cherry, but I didn’t. And I didn’t forget. If she hadn’t sparked it, I woulda lasted maybe three more weeks before I outed myself. And don’t fucking cry. If anyone’s gonna cry tonight, I’m calling dibs.”</p><hr/>
<p>They meet up with Gabe and the girls at Nick’s. Gabe’s already stopped by a 24-hour store and bought a prepaid phone card. Together all of them help unpack and settle Steve into a room, drinking and talking, even laughing. Early in the morning most of them have packed themselves into cabs and gone home, but Steve asks Sam to sleep with him and Gabe crashes on the couch. When the black roller blind and curtains blot out the light from the rising sun and Steve’s cooped up, holding Sam with his head under Sam’s chin, Steve cries himself to sleep.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, so found-family is my favorite trope. I wouldn't have pulled through some situations so well if it wasn't for people outside of my birth family, and that's despite how insanely loyal and loving my mom and siblings are. But not only found-family as in people who have a tight, well-established bond. When I announced on Facebook that I and my partner were separating, people I hadn't spoken to for years, that I didn't consider close friends, contacted me, asking if I needed somewhere to stay, if I needed help moving, or even borrow money. I wasn't aware I had that safety net so it was shocking to see it unfold under me. People are awesome. I could never ever be a misanthrope. </p>
<p>I saw this scene in my head the moment I wrote Sam going down on Steve after the Claire/Nick blowup. Sadly, not everyone has this type of safety net. When it comes to toxic relationships, familial or otherwise, a common thing is for the abusive party to isolate the victim, controlling who they can be friends with, who they can see, or when. Steve's lucky that wasn't part of his dad's type of abuse.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. CHUCK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick's freaking out. He believes he's bitten off more than he can chew. Meanwhile, Dean's freaking out for another reason entirely.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>-Mentions of suicidal thoughts<br/>-Implied rape<br/>-Mention of child abuse<br/>Overall, I don't think this chapter should be triggering unless someone is extremely sensitive, and in that case, I doubt they would be reading this fic, to begin with. The suicidal thoughts are not currently occurring.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>  </p>
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  </p>
</div><p>"Honey, I'm hooome!" Dean calls out from downstairs. It's already 3 PM but Nick hasn't crawled out of bed yet. The youngsters woke up at 11 AM the first time. Nick knows this because he'd heard them have sex before all went quiet again.</p>
<p>
  <em>Just my fucking luck. I had to go adopt the one baby gay that so happens to be my little bird's regular lover.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They're both little birds, Nick. Be nice.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Ouff. Wife's home. Might as well get my ass out of bed instead of lying here, trying to pretend yesterday didn't happen.</em>
</p>
<p>Said and done. He gets up and pulls on a pair of sweats, goes to relieve himself, then heads downstairs. He hears the clinking of bottles from the kitchen and winces inwardly with a guilty feeling for not having cleaned the mess up.</p>
<p>Dean’s not whistling for once. He’s <em>singing</em>. Not at full capacity, but with enough gusto to hint at him actually being a decent singer.</p>
<p>“~<em>What a day for a daydream, custom made for a daydreaming boy…</em>~”</p>
<p>Nick turns the corner to the kitchen entrance to see Dean dancing a wiggly little dance while putting empty bottles on the counter.</p>
<p>“Somebody got laid,” Nick remarks dryly.</p>
<p>Dean grins at him. “Hells yeah, I did. Many, <em>many</em> times,” he says and starts rinsing the bottles.</p>
<p>Nick huffs. “Could you stop that for a moment and sit down. We need to talk.”</p>
<p>The sheer horror that flickers over Dean’s face makes Nick want to facepalm. Words can be triggering and, ‘We need to talk,’ is the harbinger of bad news anywhere. “Is this about rent? Cuz I can pay. Just say how much and I―” Dean hurriedly says.</p>
<p>Nick smirks tiredly and shakes his head. “No. Something happened yesterday that concerns you, but I was too upset to remember to text you.” He gestures towards the table.</p>
<p>Dean’s instant fear of getting kicked out is traded for careful curiosity. He shuts the water off and goes to sit down.</p>
<p>Nick joins him at the table. “Yesterday a new little baby gay was hatched. His dad took one look at him and promptly kicked him out of the nest. I, of course, in my infinite stupidity, adopted him. So now you have a front-row ticket to listen to him bang your brother. Congratulations.”</p>
<p>Dean frowns in bemusement. “I’m not sure I understand.”</p>
<p>Nick sighs and rubs both hands over his face, then he crosses his arms on the tabletop and leans forward. “Steve came out quite spectacularly yesterday. His dad is a racist, homophobic, and most importantly, <em>abusive</em> asshole. To make sure he wouldn’t kill Steve, I got his stuff and moved him in with us in the room next to yours. There’s a catch. He and Sam have been fucking for months. I had to listen to that bullshit go on under our roof and so do you. Be nice. Steve had to look his father in his eyes and hear him say, ‘I have no son’ yesterday. He’ll have to drop out of college. His life just changed pivotally. He’s scared shitless.”</p>
<p>“Dude…”</p>
<p>“Mhm. This means you’re going to have to clean less.”</p>
<p>“<em>Less?</em> But if we’re more people living here it’ll be messier.”</p>
<p>Nick’s lips twitch in amusement at Dean’s apparent distress. But this might actually be the perfect opportunity to get Dean to take a chill pill and allow Steve some of that instant gratification Dean gets out of housework. “No. What I want from you is that you keep him busy during the days while I’m away. Don’t work him ragged, but make sure he has things to do with his hands. Check if he knows basic life skills like cleaning, laundering, cooking, and teach him that if he doesn’t. If you feel like it, finish renovating the rooms or tackle the garden, but keep it at a level where it’s fun and he can’t fail. Just enough to make sure he gets out of bed every day and doesn't get stuck in his own head.”</p>
<p>“Sure. I can do that.”</p>
<p>“Is it going to be a problem that he’s banging Sam?”</p>
<p>“Nah. Not if Sam’s into it. Steve’s cool.”</p>
<p>Nick hums thoughtfully and pulls on his lower lip. “Have you ever had the intense urge to drive your fist through someone’s face,” he says and fists one of his hands, “while at the same time had an overwhelming admiration and wish to protect them?” he cups his other hand fingers spread wide and looks back and forth between his fist and cupped hand.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah. Sam was a real good kid, but he’d get up to shit kids get up to. Sometimes I wanted to… well.” Dean scratches behind an ear with a finger, making a grimace. “Like, I’ve given him a smack once in a while when he’s been a brat and I’ve been really frustrated. But more for the shock of it, if you feel me? Not to actually hurt the little shit.”</p>
<p>“Siblings fight, and you were a kid too. So yes, I feel you. But let me tell you about yesterday…” So Nick tells him. He starts from when they first spotted Cherry, Gabe taking photos, Nick dancing and teasing Sam, coming back from the bar to hear Cherry unload vitriol and Steve’s reaction to it.</p>
<p>“I stood there with two drinks in hand, perfect to throw in both of their faces. It took a goddamn miracle not to stomp over there like a self-entitled, jealous boyfriend,” he says, demonstrating holding the two drinks, fuming. “And I remained standing to calm down. Sam had a freakout. Apparently, Steve had told him what would happen to him if he came out. Then Steve lifted his shirt to show off a bruise… You’ll see it later but it wouldn’t surprise me if a fucking cast iron frying pan had caused it. And he said to Sam that that was his every day. That got me going because me and my brothers, we’ve seen too many unhappy endings. Too many kids who deep down don’t think their parents would step over the last line and end up dead, brain damaged, or disabled for their misplaced trust.”</p>
<p>Nick keeps talking, Dean listening enraptured. Nick makes sure to mention the jealousy he feels so Dean will recognize and call him out on it if he ends up throwing a fit, hoping Dean will help him be the Mike-voice of reason when Mike isn’t around. He tells Dean about facing off with Steve’s dad, knife hidden in one palm, praying for the asshole to make one wrong move so Nick could shank him. “Which is why I don’t have a gun. It would be too easy.”</p>
<p>He tells Dean how his heart smashed into a million pieces when Steve decided that being gay was the hill he would die on, knowing full well it meant total rejection by his dad. “And you know, I think it’s Sam’s trust and loyalty that made him dare? He knew that no matter what, there would be at least one person that would stand by him. Sometimes it’s all it takes.”</p>
<p>Dean looks at the table and scrapes at a stain at the table cloth absentmindedly. “Yeah… I took out some bastard that was about to swing at him, and Steve’s been treating me like I conquered a fucking dragon on his behalf. It wasn’t even a big deal. Like, Dad’s an ex-Marine, and he’s been training me in hand to hand combat for years. Taking someone out isn’t that hard, especially since I got a jump on the bastard. It’s harder when it’s a situation like when you went for me. When I’m trying to de-escalate and not cause lasting damages. But, damn, you just kept coming.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yes. I do that,” Nick says with a self-deprecating smile. “Every tiny bump in the road is the hill <em>I</em> die on,” he jokes. Their eyes meet and both of them snigger. Nick goes on to tell him what Brady asked on the way home and Steve’s answer to it. He can see Dean’s visibly moved by it and a little shaken. So is Nick. Yet he still wants to drive his fist through Steve’s face for touching Sam.</p><hr/>
<p>Nick gives Dean the assignment to explain the house rules to Steve when they hear Steve and Sam come down the stairs, then shoos Dean out of the kitchen because he shouldn’t clean up a mess he didn’t have a part in making (no matter how tempting it is to let him). Then Nick putters around the kitchen, cleaning, and preparing food while listening to the conversation going on in the living room. It makes him snigger.</p>
<p>“Okay, so rule number one: Never glue shoes to the ceiling,” Dean says.</p>
<p>Sam sputters. “<em>Oh my god, Dean!</em> It was <em>one time</em> and I was eight! Are you ever gonna get over it?”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers, and hears Steve snigger along. Dean raises his voice, answering, “Dude! I was gone for like five minutes and all our shoes were suddenly glued to the motel room ceiling. Like, what the fuck?! How did you even get up there? You were three apples high for fuck sake!”</p>
<p>“I’ve <em>told you</em> I was playing that we were living upside down. We had a ladder and you were gone for two hours,” Sam argues.</p>
<p>Nick grins at the laughter that follows. The first rule Dean introduced was, ‘No drugs on the property,’ and followed it up with, ‘No joke. Cross that line and I’ll fuck you up. Capisce?’ Nick appreciates the priority. Especially since the next rule number one Dean introduced, (they’re all rule number one) was, ‘No inciting murder,’ without actually explaining what he meant. It made Steve and Sam laugh, which is a good thing, even if it’s just temporary injections of endorphins in a time of emotional upheaval.</p>
<p>He’s glad Dean’s done so much cooking. The freezer is stocked with meals ready to be heated. He takes several Tupperware boxes of stew out of the freezer and adds their content in a large pot with a little bit of water. Dejectedly he wonders if his food budget is going to shoot through the roof now that he’s providing for three grown men. Maybe not, if they’re smart about it. Dean moving in has meant he isn’t eating out nearly as often as he used to. When it was just Dean he was perfectly happy not demanding rent, what with how much time Dean put into housework without changing the budget much. But now he might have to, to make ends meet. The discussion can wait for a few weeks while they get settled, Ella won’t mind if their savings for her surgeries don’t accumulate as quickly as before, not when this is the cause.</p>
<p>“Rule number one: On Thursdays we wear tutus,” he hears Dean say.</p>
<p>“We most definitely do <em>not</em>!” Nick shouts, then smirks smugly at the laughter from the living room.</p>
<p>Stirring and poking at the melting blocks of stew while listening to the nonsense in the other room, he’s relaxed and content. But then Dean makes an offhand comment that screeches Nick’s mind to a halt.</p>
<p>“Heh. I guess this is a safe house for queer kids now, huh?”</p>
<p>It’s no big thing and the conversation moves on from a lighthearted discussion about sexuality to workout routines one can do at home now that the closest gym is so far away. But Nick dwells on it with trepidation.</p><hr/>
<p>“So how’s Steve holding up?” Mike asks as he cuts his steak. They’re having lunch at Mike’s favorite restaurant. Nick worked overtime yesterday to take half a day off today just so he could have lunch with Mike.</p>
<p>“Honestly, I have no idea. Babygay is so good at putting up a nonchalant front, so I can’t tell. But wifey seems to have it well in hand,” Nick answers and pokes at his pasta, not having much of an appetite.</p>
<p>“Wifey?” Mike asks dryly and raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“You try moving in with Dean and you’ll quickly notice that you have a very affectionate and neurotic wife on your hand, not a roommate,” Nick grumps.</p>
<p>“Exactly how affectionate…?” Mike asks, fork halting halfway to his mouth.</p>
<p>Nick smirks evilly. “Moaning like a little bitch. I especially like how he lathers me up when we showe―<em>Ow!</em>” He jerks and sniggers when Mike kicks him on the shin. “Not that kind of affectionate, asswipe. But he’s handsy. Mostly, I hear him being affectionate. Babygay will go, ‘Get off me!’ and then there are scuffling sounds that quickly devolves into giggles.”</p>
<p>“Are they, um… you know?” Mike asks carefully.</p>
<p>Nick actually feels a bit bad for him. A tiny bit. Another part feels that if Nick doesn’t get to fuck his love’s brains out, neither should Mike. “Fucking? Doubtfully. It seems more like Dean’s gone into some pseudo-parenting brother mode. I asked him to keep Steve busy to distract him from what happened, which he interpreted as getting up to no good.”</p>
<p>“How?” Mike asks and resumes his eating.</p>
<p>“Yesterday when I came home I no longer had a front yard. Which, by all means, is okay. I’ve told Dean he could do whatever he wants with the offense outside the house. I also told him to teach Babygay handy life-skills. I should’ve been more specific.”</p>
<p>Mike’s eyes gleam with anticipatory amusement, seeing Nick’s facial expression. He makes a go-on gesture.</p>
<p>“We’d run out of parking space, so Dean decided to make a parking lot out of the front yard,” Nick tells him. “It was covered in gravel. I asked him where he got the gravel and he told me he’d found it. When I asked <em>where</em> he’d found it, he answered.” Nick lets out a frustrated hiss. “In a truck bed. On a <em>building site</em>.”</p>
<p>Mike covers his mouth to laugh. “Oh no!”</p>
<p>“Oh yes. It was a good job too. I don’t know where he got the geocell grids from, but I’m assuming the same place. Told them it was an impressive job for two people and it turns out it <em>wasn’t</em> a two-man job. Oh no. The bastard got the neighbors involved. After dinner, we all went over there to help them build a patio in exchange for the help.” Nick resentfully shovels a bunch of pasta in his mouth. He didn’t want to come home from working construction to work construction. Not that anyone had asked him to, but if someone does you a favor you pay them back.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. “Have you even met your neighbors before?”</p>
<p>“No. I’ve spent a lot of energy avoiding it,” Nick grouses. Once they were done, the neighbors brought out cases of beers so they all could enjoy the new patio. It was a great night. Fuck Dean. “Oh, and, Dean always calls me honey when he comes home. I call him that too, as a joke. Well, this Monday I came home to Dean teaching Steve to cook. I went in there and Dean, as usual, went, ‘Hi, Honey, how was your day?’ and I, as a fucking <em>joke</em>, lean in to kiss his cheek. You know what the fucker did?! He offered it up! So apparently that’s a thing we do now. I’m officially married and at my wit’s end,” Nick complains.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers, eyes full of malicious (Nick’s sure) delight. “Oh, you’re loving it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t.”</p>
<p>“No, no. You <em>do</em>,” Mike says, gesturing with his fork. “You’ve hounded us to move in with you since you got the place. You hate being alone. You’re living the high life right now.”</p>
<p>“Am not,” Nick refutes. “And the only reason I want you to move in is that it’s the soundest economic decision to save up for Ella’s surgeries and treatment.”</p>
<p>“Mhm. That’s what you <em>say</em>. But we all know that despite your misanthropic tendencies, you’re hyper-social. You’re not like me and Gabe. You hate being alone,” Mike states, amused, and takes a swig of his soda.</p>
<p>Nick scoffs. Mike’s not completely wrong. But that doesn’t mean he loves living with two uncontrollable kids stealing building materials and making friends with the neighbors. “Did I tell you Ella’s coming this weekend? I’ve dibsed her for Saturday,” he says, changing the subject.</p>
<p>“Aww, that’s not fair. I want to see her too,” Mike whines.</p>
<p>“We’re going to IKEA.”</p>
<p>Mike lets go of his cutlery to hold up his hands and lean back. “You’re on your own.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Thought so. You can come over in the evening when we’re done. Gabe’s coming too.”</p>
<p>“You know I’ll be there.”</p><hr/>
<p>Dean’s offhanded comment keeps gnawing on him. That’s why he finds himself here outside the familiar, old Victorian house. The lawn is mowed and the house has a fresh layer of white paint, but the black paint on the ornate iron fence is still flaking away to show the rust underneath. He looks up at two of the narrow, arched windows on the second floor with a strange pang of nostalgic longing for their old room. For his inner eye he can still see Gabe sitting cooped up on the broad window sill inside, pressing his nose or cheek against the cold glass, waiting for them to come home from school.</p>
<p>He throws a look behind him at the parking lot outside the creaky gate, where Azazel had picked him and Ella up in his red 1972 Chevrolet Chevelle to take Ella shopping for clothes. Back then Ella had trouble passing as a girl, and Nick loved Aze ten times more for how he’d taken Ella in stride. Aze had a lot of faults, but transphobia wasn’t one of them.</p>
<p>Nick remembers sitting in Azazel’s small, run-down apartment, fretting over Mikey. Aze driving them here to pick Mikey up, then smoking weed together, the three of them. It’s lucky Mike’s too much of a nerd to smoke weed often. Nick misses his goofy smile and giggle-fits.</p>
<p>Nick walks up the creaky stairs and rings the doorbell. When nobody answers, he dislodges the loose plank in the stairs to retrieve the key, uses it to unlock, puts everything back, and enters the house. He’s hit by a number of familiar smells: Old house, Chuck, detergent, cinnamon buns, to name a few. Chuck’s house always smelled of cinnamon buns. It’s the only thing Chuck knows how to bake, and he bakes them often. He doesn’t actually eat them himself, but in a house full of growing boys they dwindle fast anyway.</p>
<p>The faded flowery tapestry in the hallway is full of scribbles and drawings. Nick searches out his own aggressive, ‘<tt>FUCK OFF!</tt>’ on the way, and snorts in amusement at his younger self angrily writing it all those years ago during his first week here. On impulse, he takes a marker out of his pocket, uncaps it, and writes, ‘<tt>I’m grateful I ended up here. I know I don’t say it, but I love you Dad. Thank you. - Nicky bug</tt>’</p>
<p>He caps the pen and pockets it, smirking at the wall. Chuck will see it. With luck, he’ll see it one day when he’s feeling tired and dejected, wondering why he’s doing this bullshit, and maybe it’ll perk him up.</p>
<p>From upstairs Nick hears boy-voices and somebody listening to rap music. There are voices coming from the kitchen too, so Nick heads that way. Chuck’s in the kitchen putting away groceries with the perpetually defeated look he has, talking with a punk-ass kid who’s 15-16 perhaps. The kid’s sitting by the table, balancing the chair on its hind legs. His nonchalant expression makes Nick want to slap him.</p>
<p>“...have you at least done your homework?” Chuck asks tiredly.</p>
<p>“Hah! Yeah, that’s likely,” the kid says dryly. He’s got mousy hair and a pretty face (if you disregard the black eye) and is dressed in jeans that are more holes than cloth, a red shirt with two zippers like sashes diagonally over his shirt, and a jeans jacket full of pins and patches with hostile messages and punk band logos.</p>
<p>It’s funny how aging changes you. Nick had similar clothes when he was that age. He still had one or two pairs of jeans with rips on the knees left―relics from another time―but nowadays holes in his clothes bothered him and made him feel like a bum who couldn’t afford new clothes. “Hi, Dad.” It’s the second time ever he’s called Chuck ‘Dad’, stubborn holding on to ‘You’re not my dad!’ while his siblings all went, ‘I have a dad now!’ once Chuck proved he wasn’t going to ship them off to the next place.</p>
<p>Chuck turns around, spots him, and lights up. “Nick! What a nice surprise.” He looks at the kid who’s eyeing Nick with apprehensive curiosity, and says, “Keith, this is Nick. He used to live in your room. Nick, Keith.”</p>
<p>The two of them look at each other disinterestedly and both do the ‘S’up?’ chin jerk. Nick loses interest right away but Keith remains looking at him, trying to hide his curiosity. Nick was the same when older kids came visiting; dying to know more about the welcome intruders. Nick goes to help Chuck put away the remaining groceries. “I need to talk. I’ve made a mistake. Did Gabe tell you what happened?” By Nick’s measures, Gabe’s a gossip-central. He’s bound to have called Chuck and blabbed.</p>
<p>Chuck smiles and puts away the milk and eggs in the fridge. “Why don’t you tell me instead? It’s easier to talk if we know for sure that we both operate with the same information.”</p>
<p>Nick makes a whiny noise, puts away the bread, and goes to sit down by the table on the opposite side of Keith. “Okay, okay. So Sam’s brother found him. His name is Dean and he’s been looking for Sam since Sam ran away from home. He’s sticking around for as long as Sam’s in college. He’s a whole big bag of trouble, but he loves his little brother. About three weeks ago, I found him sleeping in his car. I couldn't just let him be homeless so I took him in."</p>
<p>"Mhm," Chuck says, takes three cans of mountain dew from the fridge, and comes to sit down by the short end of the table. He sends two of the cans gliding over Nick and Keith. Nick catches it and Keith flails a bit―chair falling back down on all fours―but manages to stop the soda can from going past him and over the table on the other side.</p>
<p>"That worked well enough, all things considered," Nick says, opening his soda. "But last weekend one of Sam's college mates, a bratty dudebro named Steve, came out to his abusive dad and got kicked out. So now I've got to take care of two trashed kids that nobody wants. I'm not fit for it. I'll fuck up."</p>
<p>"You don't <em>have</em> to," Chuck says.</p>
<p>"Of course, I do,” Nick protests with a scrunch of his nose. “Nobody else is going to do it. They've got no one else and I'm not letting them go back to their fathers who used them as punching bags. I don't have a choice."</p>
<p>"Nick, for the last 35 years I've had a house full of boys whose parents have chosen not to take care of them. Every day I wake up and actively choose to give them what's been denied them. And god knows, I'm not fit for it."</p>
<p>"You got that right," Keith mutters and opens the soda can to take a sip.</p>
<p>Nick ignores him. He recognizes Keith's hostility as the same kind of self-defense he himself used as a kid. "Why did you decide to take in fosters?" he asks Chuck instead.</p>
<p>"Oh. Haha. I didn't,” Chuck answers and rubs a hand back and forth over his already unruly curls. “It sort of was decided for me when I was 22. I never told you about it?”</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head. He’s never asked.</p>
<p>Chuck smiles. “Like all good stories it started on a dark and stormy night. About two months earlier my parents had the good taste to finally die,” he says, getting both Nick and Keith to snigger. “Surprisingly, they'd let me inherit everything they owned, including this house. In the choice between living in a house full of nightmare-inducing memories or behind a dumpster on Portland avenue, a real bed won out.”</p>
<p>“You were homeless?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>“They kicked me out when I was 15. That’s another story. But at this time, I was living alone here. Spending my days writing, waiting for the next batch of rejection letters from publishers. Then one night there was a terrible storm. The torrential rain was pouring down so hard the storm drains couldn’t keep up, flooding the streets, waterlogging every patch of grass that valiantly tried to soak it up. The wind tore at the old Sweet Bay out back, making it claw desperately at the window to get in, not to suffer the torturous stripping of branches as the California Buckeye behind it.”</p>
<p>Nick sips his Mountain Dew, giving Chuck rapt attention. He’d forgotten how much he loved Chuck’s way of telling stories. Gabe used to ask questions and then crawl up to Chuck’s side to listen when Chuck fell into his story-telling mode. Nick would hide out of sight, sinking down on the floor with his back against a wall to listen.</p>
<p>“I was lying in bed, listening to the house groan and whine, considering which method was best to end my miserable existence. Like you do.”</p>
<p>Nick huffs in amusement at the tone of the last sentence. “I’m more of a best-method-to-murder kind of guy myself,” he jokes.</p>
<p>“Oh-hmm. Suicide by cop then,” Chuck muses. “I’m afraid that would require too much effort for me. It was never a viable option.”</p>
<p>“You really considered suicide?” Keith asks with a skeptical frown.</p>
<p>“Yes. Daily. For hours,” Chuck confirms. “If I wasn’t writing I was longing for the sweet release of non-existence. But that wasn’t in store for me. Half-past midnight I heard the shattering sound of breaking glass from downstairs. I assumed the wind had picked something up and viciously hurled it at a window in resentment of not being able to get at me. I nearly stayed in bed, but the thought of water damage to the hardwood floors, and the increased cost of warming the house finally drove me downstairs to inspect the damage. I could hear the howling of the wind coming from in here, whistling over jagged edges. But I also heard thumps and thuds no wind could cause.”</p>
<p>“Time to grab a baseball bat,” Nick remarks, imagining how his own heart would be racing in fright. As if being alone wasn’t bad enough. Best case scenario, it was a raccoon. But even those were deadly if they had rabies.</p>
<p>Keith sniggers and throws him a look, eyes alert and agreeing. If Nick had asked for privacy, Chuck would’ve given it to him as soon as his youngsters’ needs were seen to. But often as not, the older kids who came visiting didn’t, and overhearing their discussions and talks with Chuck had done a lot for Nick to relax around him. That’s why he’s letting Keith be around to hear the talk. He knows every kid in here has a tragic backstory of some kind.</p>
<p>Chuck huffs a silent laugh. “You underestimate my level of defeat. I was actively longing for death at the time. I didn’t even get an elevated pulse. Something broke in me when I was homeless. The first time someone pushed my head to the ground and whispered, ‘Relax, kid. Just let it happen…’” He shakes his head and averts his face with sad eyes. He takes a sip of his soda. Nick wants to scream and rail at the world for having treated his father figure the same way it had treated him. Somehow, he’d thought Chuck was just a good guy who’d taken pity on kids like him. It’s strange that he never really considered that Chuck could’ve <em>been</em> that kid. “After that, I did. Life was something that simply put continued to happen to me, and I let it,” Chuck goes on. “I didn’t know it, but waiting for me in the kitchen, was what would change that.”</p>
<p>Keith pulls up one leg on his chair, hugging it to his chest much as Dean did when Nick found him sleeping in his car, creating a comforting shield. His expression is no longer arrogant. He puts his chin on his knee, looking at Chuck, trying to appear emotionless but failing to hide the anxiety underneath.</p>
<p>Chuck looks back at them with a small smile. “In the kitchen was a lanky teenager, dressed in a ragtag of mismatched clothes, shivering and soaked to the bone. He was rummaging through my fridge, stuffing his mouth and gathering food to his chest, lit only by the light coming from within. I looked at the broken window and said, ‘You could’ve just rung the door bell.’ He jumped back, dropping his bounty and pulled a knife, yelling, ‘Keep back! I’ll kill you, I swear!’” He chuckles and shakes his head, looking at his lap with a fond smile. “I told him, ‘Oh. Well that would neatly solve all my problems,’ and walked to inspect the damage to my window. He pressed himself against the wall over there,” Chuck points at the wall over by the fridge, at the opposite side of the window, “and made stabbing motions towards me. His eyes were wide under his frowning eyebrows, but I didn’t pay him much mind as I went to get a hammer, nails, and board, then a broom and shovel. I wasn’t in the mood for cleaning so I foolishly only brushed the glass out of the way before I started trying to cover the window. But then I stepped on a piece of glass.”</p>
<p>“He was still standing there waving his knife?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>“With every move I made,” Chuck smiles as if this is a very fond memory. “Until I stepped on the glass shard I wasn’t even looking at him. But then I cursed, said that this could wait, and told him that if was planning to stab me, he could find me in the second room to the left upstairs. I said that there were an unused bed two doors down from me, with clothes in the wardrobe, but that the clothes in my wardrobe probably would fit better, and that the drain in the upstairs bathroom was clogged so he was better off taking a bath down here if he wanted to get clean. I left, leaving bloody footprints behind, and went to my room. It took about an hour before I heard hammering below, and another half an hour before he knocked on my door and very uncertainly wondered if I had a cardboard box because you weren’t supposed to throw glass in plastic bags. And that’s how I met Toby.”</p>
<p>“Toby,” Nick coos in surprise. “He was your first? What’s he doing these days? Haven’t seen him in ages.” Toby visited Chuck a few times a year and Nick had always liked him.</p>
<p>“He lives in Sacramento these days and works as a child psychologist at a center for abused kids.”</p>
<p>“But, how,” Keith starts, gesturing at Chuck with a troubled frown, “did he go from just living with you to a foster?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Haha. Yes, good question. About a month later the police came knocking. Toby was frantic. He didn’t want to go back. By then we’d already become friends. He never told me why he’d run away from his previous placement, but that didn’t matter. I told the cops he wasn’t here then called his caseworker and asked if I could adopt him. I was a legal adult, had a house, and money in the bank. It seemed like a ridiculous notion at the time, but she came over for an inspection. She told me I could try fostering him and if I managed to get him back into school and keep him from doing crimes, we could discuss adoption. I sat down and talked it over with him the same night. We agreed to give it a shot. We were good for each other. He introduced me to heavy drinking and I introduced him to doing his schoolwork,” Chuck jokes.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “How did it escalate? I doubt you kept getting burglarized.”</p>
<p>Chuck shrugs. “It was his caseworker’s doing. She kept him monitored and was impressed by how fast he went from impossible to handle to doing well in school. Toby also refused talking in therapy, but after six months with me he started opening up to his therapist. To his therapist, I claimed I was having therapy sessions with him, but in reality it was just us drinking ourselves shitfaced and comparing our lives.”</p>
<p>“Like me and my brothers,” Nick smiles.</p>
<p>“Mhm. That’s the idea. Therapy by smack-talking us adults behind our backs,” he jokes tiredly. “Toby’s caseworker called about a year after he moved in, asking if there was a chance I could try foster another tricky boy. I said yes, and that’s how it went.”</p>
<p>Nick makes a noise of frustration and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Dean called my home a safehouse for queer kids, Dad. It hit me what a big responsibility that is. I’m barely functioning as it is. And now I’ve got two damaged young men living under my roof. I <em>want</em> to help them. I just don’t know how. First day Dean lived with me I wrongfully accused him of stealing and tried to beat the shit out of him. I would have, if he wasn’t the better fighter. How do I help them without making it worse? <em>How?</em>”</p>
<p>Chuck rubs his eyes with one hand, then sighs. “Well… My number one advice would be to open up and talk about yourself. I know that’s hard for you, but sit them down, drink if you have to, and talk. If you talk, chances are, so will they, and they need it. They need to voice the atrocities they’ve been put through and get to hear that they were atrocities. Most of us haven’t internalized that we were treated wrongly even if we know it. We tend to think we somehow caused it. And you know what, Nicky? I don’t think it will be as bad as you think. You’ve always had a protective soul. You’ll figure it out. Have a little faith in yourself.”</p>
<p>Nick’s skeptical. The weight of the world is on him and he’s bound to fuck it up. He’s got no idea how he ended up following in Chuck’s footsteps. It’s just a matter of time before he slips up one way or another. He didn’t sign up for this. He turns his head towards Keith, noting the youngster’s not nearly as closed off as he was when Nick came. “You know what really sucks, Keith? You spend your youth getting used and abused by adults until you hate them with the core of your being. And one day you look in the mirror and realize <em>you’re</em> the adult now. It sucks ass.”</p>
<p>Nick sticks around talking for a while longer. By the time he leaves, Keith’s doing his homework, letting Chuck help him.</p><hr/>
<p>Dean's sitting on the porch looking at the newly mowed lawn. Dean’s made the mistake of asking Nick why he doesn’t mow it. His answer was, ‘I did cut it once. You know what happens when you leave grass unattended for five minutes? It fucking grows!’ Nick remained in a foul mood for a full 20 minutes after that, as if the mere existence of grass was an insult to him personally.</p>
<p>Nick doesn't own a lawnmower. Luckily, the Glovers up the road do, so in exchange for mowing their lawn, he'd gotten to borrow it to mow Nick's lawn too. Nick doesn't own a barbecue either. Dean contemplates building one. They could just buy or steal one, but what would be the fun in that? There’s an abandoned building further up the road. You take a left onto a dirt road that’s nearly completely overgrown, and you come up to another colonial house very similar to Nick’s, except the roof has caved in and wilderness and mold have overtaken it. Nobody lives there and if someone owns it, Dean’s sure they won’t be too bothered if a few bricks mysteriously disappeared from the foundation.</p>
<p>
  <em>Two years.</em>
</p>
<p>His inside twists and shifts like he had a snake pit in his belly. He couldn’t stay inside. The walls were creeping in on him. They do that sometimes when he’s alone. Too many thoughts aren’t good for you. Nick’s at work and Ennis had called Steve, asking to meet up for a private chat. Steve’s been really down about Ennis ghosting him, even if he’s tried not to show it. He’s shrugged it off saying it’s fucking normal if you need some time digesting that one of your closest friends came out as gay. Dean disagrees but keeps that to himself.</p>
<p>Earlier today he and Steve were sitting here on the porch stairs, looking over the still-tall grass and the conversation keeps intruding on Dean’s thoughts.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sam said your dad only beat him once. He ever beat you?” Steve asks.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The question makes Dean squirm inside. “Only if I deserved it.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You afraid of him?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The correct answer should be ‘no’, and it’s not like Dean’s never lied before, but there’s something about Steve’s anxious, vulnerable eyes that makes Dean shrug and answer, “I guess.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Steve looks at his feet and presses absentmindedly on a small bruise he got on his knee while they made the parking lot out front. “I’ve always been terrified of him. For as long as I can remember. I didn’t expect to feel sad about him kicking me out.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s miles over Dean’s pay grade. He doesn’t have a clue how to answer. “Was he always bad?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Steve’s silent for a beat before he shakes his head. “No. He wasn’t exactly the huggy type, but he was all I had.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Whelp. You’ll just have to settle for us from now on,” Dean jokes and hangs his arm around Steve’s neck. “Me, Sam, and even that grouchy blond fucker who owns the house. And let me tell you, I ain’t just huggy. I’m fucking needy, so…” He hugs Steve a bit too hard, leaning on him, nuzzling him to make him flail and try to get away until they both tumble down in the grass laughing. Laughing is good because that means the risk of a continued chick flick moment has passed and Dean won’t have to talk about himself.</em>
</p>
<p>Steve’s issues hit closer to home than Dean wants to admit to himself. So he doesn’t. Just slip on the blinders, let the anxiety slam into him, and carry on.</p>
<p>
  <em>Two years.</em>
</p>
<p>Mike’s busy tonight. So is Gabe. There are hours to go before Nick comes home. Tomorrow they’re going to IKEA to buy things for Dean and Steve, and for the house, that Nick constantly refers to as ‘our’ home.</p>
<p>
  <em>Two fucking years.</em>
</p>
<p>Sam’s grades are falling. Something’s very wrong with his younger brother.</p>
<p>Dean pulls his phone out and takes a few deep breaths before he makes a call.</p>
<p>"Hey, Dad. It's me. Where are you?" First order of business, establish Dad's position and adapt his lies to that. He's been lying to Dad all his life and it never fails to give him anxiety.</p>
<p>"Still in Florida, Son. Got any news?"</p>
<p>"Um, yeah, actually. I think I have a lead. I'm in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. Population of less than 300 so they remember strangers. A few of them recognized Sammy's picture, except they described him as taller and bulkier."</p>
<p>"Do they know where he is?"</p>
<p>Dean swallows and shakes his head, even if Dad can't see it. "No, Sir. He stopped by this summer. He was road tripping with a friend, heading for New York. But get this, he's in college." Dean makes himself sound excited, willing Dad to share it and make a lie of his alleged attitude.</p>
<p>"Find him, and bring him home."</p>
<p>"No, Dad, didn't you hear me? He's in college, making something of himself!”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have run off. He needs to be disciplined.”</p>
<p>Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”</p>
<p>Dad’s voice gets annoyed. “Don’t get uppity with me, Boy,” he says, and a part inside of Dean shies away in fright.</p>
<p>“Dad? Are you there? I can’t hear you, the reception is wonky. Dad? Da―” Dean hangs up, switches his phone off, and throws it (carefully) on the grass as if it was a poisonous snake, heart jackhammering in his chest. He wraps one arm around his torso and covers his mouth with his other hand, then rocks himself back and forth to calm himself down.</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s fucking true. Dad fucking beat Sam. What the actual fuck?!</em>
</p>
<p>Dad had always treated them differently. That could’ve led to a split between them and festering jealousy, but hadn’t, because of who Sam was. Sam was slow, probably some kind of letter combination that went undiagnosed. He was trusting and sweet and affectionate and tiny, and if you got mad at him he’d follow you around with his puppy eyes and do everything in his power to make you happy again, giving you his toys and candy and hugs. Everything about Sam was well-intentioned. So it was okay that Dean was the one Dad disciplined, not Sam. Most of the time it wasn’t even that bad. Just a slap and the mark would fade in an hour. And Dean’s a hopeless fuckup who forgot to do stuff he was supposed to do.</p>
<p>But nobody gets to hurt Sammy. Not even Dad.</p>
<p>Why the hell would he be mad about Sam going to college? That’s awesome! Dean wishes he could go too. He’s got no idea what he’d like to study, but it doesn’t matter because he couldn’t get a full ride and it’s not like he’d ever tell anyone he’d like to study more. It would be a waste of resources. That’s not where his talents lie anyway.</p>
<p>He had one job, to take care of Sam, and now Sam doesn’t need him anymore, doing just fine on his own, and <em>two fucking years!</em></p>
<p>What do people do when they’ve got eons of time to stay in one place? Fuck. His facades and ploys crumble if he stays too long in one place.</p>
<p>He feels the panic come crawling, gets up to grab his phone, goes inside, locks all the doors, and leaves the house, getting into his car. He needs to do something. He can’t just sit still and think without a purpose. Rule number one of this house should be, ‘Don’t leave Dean alone’. Yeah. That would be a good rule. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. ELLA</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean comes home and finds unexpected guests at home.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings for this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
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</div><p>It’s well past dinner time when Dean comes home, full of dirt and scrapes from raiding the abandoned house down the road of building material for the barbecue. He’s got a long scratch along his left forearm from a rusty nail and it needs to get washed. Luckily, he’s up to date on his tetanus shots. “Honey, I’m hooome!” he calls out to announce his presence as he toes his muddy shoes off. He itches to clean up the mess he makes in the hallway but if he cleans it up straight away Nick will get annoyed, so it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. He notes two pairs of unfamiliar shoes on the shoe rack.</p><p>“Get your ass in here and help me!” Nick calls back.</p><p>Dean makes his way into the living room but stops and blinks in surprise. “Fuck sake, asshat! Next time you bring hot chicks over, warn a guy!” he calls out to Nick, then plasters on his most winning smile towards the two girls sitting on the couch drinking wine with Steve. “Hey. My name is Dean Winchester. Nice to finally meet you,” he directs himself to the black chick first, “I recognize you from pics. Your brothers all speak warmly about you. Ella, right?” Ella gives him a close-lipped smile and hums an affirmative. Dean looks at the brunette beside her. “And you are?”</p><p>“Denise, Ella’s roommate.”</p><p>“Awesome. I’d shake your hands, but as you can see, I’ve been rolling in mud like the pig I am, and need to wash up first. I’ll join you in a bit. Just gonna check what honey-boo wants first,” Dean says, then throws a wink at the girls and Steve, withholding a snigger at how awkward Steve looks, and heads for the kitchen where Nick's voice came from.</p><p>Nick’s by the stove, looking perturbed and stressed. He’s got three pots going and a pork roast in the oven. Without looking up from the pot he’s stirring, he complains, “The one day I could really use your help and you’re not in the kitchen when I get home. Unbelievable. Fucking useless.”</p><p>Dean grins and cringes inwardly, the ball of anxiety twisting and turning in his belly. “Hey, you coulda given me a heads up. I thought they were coming tomorrow,” he says, walks up to Nick and leans in to kiss his cheek. Nick tilts his head towards him to give easy access. It’s a stupid thing that surely was meant as a joke but Dean’s grown to love in the five days they’ve been doing it. Now he does it with trepidation because of Nick’s mood.</p><p>Nick wasn’t looking at him, but he can smell the mud and mold on Dean and turns his head to direct a deep frown at Dean. “What the hell have you done?” He spots the gash on Dean’s arm and hisses in vexation. “For the love of―! You’re hurt.” He lets go of the wooden spoon he’d been stirring with to yank Dean’s arm up for inspection. “Damn it, Dean. This can get infected. We need to see to this immediately.”</p><p>“It’s just a scratch. No biggie.”</p><p>“The hell it isn’t. Have you gotten your tetanus shot?” Nick scowls, glaring at Dean.</p><p>“Yeah. But it’s fine. Really. It’s not that deep.”</p><p>Nick makes a sound of pure disgust, refusing to let go. “Steve! Get your ass in here and stir the sauce so it doesn’t stick,” he calls out, then starts dragging Dean with him towards the living room.</p><p>“Oh, come <em>ooon</em>. It’s no big deal. I can take care of myself,” Dean complains. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the pretty girls.”</p><p>“You obviously <em>can’t</em> take care of yourself. That should’ve been cleaned up hours ago. What did you do this time? Not raiding another building site, I hope. Christ, you stink of mold.” Nick goes on scolding him, hauling him towards the stairs. Dean can see the girls giggling while Nick hauls him past the couch and Steve obediently slinks into the kitchen. Nick’s rant continues up the stairs. “And what’s wrong with your phone? I tried calling you several times. What if something’s happened?”</p><p>“I shut it off. I called Dad. We had a disagreement and I had to pretend to have no reception,” Dean divulges.</p><p>Nick spins around on the top of the stairs. “Then you should take a page out of your brother’s playbook. It’s called ghosting. It’s when you don’t answer when someone you don’t want to talk to calls, but answer when <em>I</em> call so I don’t have to worry.”</p><p>“Dude. It’s not even 8 PM yet. I’m a grown-ass adult.”</p><p>Nick makes a frustrated noise and pulls him into the bathroom, then rummages in the cupboard under the counter for the first aid kit.</p><p>“Honey, chill. It’s just a scratch. I need to shower. I’ll take care of it.”</p><p>Nick stands up. “Okay. Get in the shower. I’ll go fetch you clean clothes.”</p><p>Dean frowns in bemusement. Maybe Nick isn’t acting this way due to Dean? Maybe there’s something else bothering him? “Alright,” he agrees and starts stripping out of his dirty clothes. He hasn’t got any qualms about getting naked in front of Nick. Dude’s already seen a nude of him anyway, thanks to Gabe. Nick leaves the room and Dean gets in the shower. The water makes the scrapes and scratches burn and Dean set out to wash thoroughly. He hears Nick come back into the bathroom.</p><p>“So what were you and your Dad fighting about?” Nick asks and sits down on the toilet lid.</p><p>“We weren’t fighting, per se, since I hung up. But I told him I had a lead on Sam―”</p><p>“<em>What?!</em>”</p><p>Dean sticks his head out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m currently in a tiny town in West Virginia where Sam passed through this summer, road-tripping with a friend headed for New York,” he clarifies.</p><p>Nick visibly relaxes.</p><p>“I told Dad Sam’s in college, and Dad told me to find him and drag him home. Hence, no reception,” Dean says and ducks back into the shower.</p><p>“Oh, you’re welcome to drag him home as much as you like, seeing as this is your home now. You should just lose your phone card and exchange it for a new number and your Dad will never bother us again,” Nick muses.</p><p>Just thinking the thought makes that ball under his sternum grow as if he’s done something wrong. “Whatever, man. So what crawled up your ass?”</p><p>“I hadn’t expected Ella to bring Denise. She’s alright, it’s just that, I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Too many problems stacking up and I feel a tad bit intruded upon,” Nick answers.</p><p>Dean’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He hadn’t really expected Nick to answer honestly. That means Dean didn’t cause his foul temper and can relax. “It’s your home. You coulda told Ella not to bring her.”</p><p>Nick sighs. “No, I couldn’t. Denise was assaulted yesterday, and their third roommate is off visiting family. Ella didn’t want to leave her alone at home.”</p><p>“Assaulted? Why?” Dean asks and lathers up his hair with shampoo.</p><p>Nick chuckles. He gets up from the toilet and pulls the shower curtain aside, then leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Sometimes you’re the most conniving, manipulative piece of shit, and sometimes, you’re such a naive little himbo. Like now. Why do you think she got assaulted?”</p><p>Dean scratches his neck with a thoughtful grimace. “Is this one of those bathroom things I’ve read about in the news?”</p><p>“Cookie for you, sweetheart. Not everyone’s reaction to transgender people is asking what not to say not to hurt them. Now. Are you going to explain why you came home looking like you crawled through a storm drain?”</p><p>“Raided the abandoned house up the road for building material for our new barbecue. That’s okay, right? I’m allowed to build one?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Nick agrees, face getting softer and more amused.</p><p>Dean washes off all the soap, unbothered by Nick looking. No. Not unbothered. He’s always liked to be the center of attention. Now’s no difference, since the violence has gone out of Nick.</p><p>“Oh, before I forget to mention it. I slammed Steve against the wall and threatened him,” Nick says.</p><p>Dean freezes his position but turns his head, frowning. “Come again?”</p><p>Nick shrugs. “Okay, I didn’t <em>slam</em> him against the wall. Poor bastard has been through enough as it is. I backed him up against the wall, told him I was about to threaten him, and asked him to pretend he was scared.”</p><p>Dean huffs. “What was the threat?”</p><p>“Not to use the N-word around my sister. She gets to deal with enough bullshit as it is. Can you believe it? I’m policing speech. <em>Me</em>.”</p><p>Dean sniggers. “Oy vey, what’s the world coming to?” Dean jokes and shares an amused grin with Nick. “Hey, so, when you’re done ogling, will you pass me that towel?” he adds and shuts off the water.</p><p>Mentioning ogling makes Nick lean back, giving Dean a leery once-over like he hadn’t done before. Then he sniggers and reaches for the towel, handing it over. “I put your clothes on the counter. I’m going to go down and see if Steve’s managed to burn the sauce. Come help me when you’re done up here?”</p><p>“You got it, bossman,” Dean says with a smirk and starts toweling dry. One little talk and Nick’s volatile temper was gone. If only Dad had been so easy to subdue…</p>
<hr/><p>Dinner’s surprisingly good. Nick’s not half-bad at cooking. Apparently, he just finds it boring, but worth making an effort for guests. They sit talking in the kitchen while they eat and share a bottle of red wine. Steve is still a bit awkward around the two girls, making him more quiet than usual, but no less engaged in the conversation.</p><p>Ella runs a hand over the table cloth, touches the wildflowers in the vase, and looks at the curtains, then smiles with teasing amusement in her eyes. “Married life becomes you, Nicky.”</p><p>Nick gives her a flat look, that makes laughter dance in her eyes. She’s a pretty solemn girl, but Dean likes her. Denise is a lot more talkative and jaunty in comparison.</p><p>“Aww, don’t look like that, honey-boo,” Dean coos and leans in to place another stolen kiss on Nick’s cheek.</p><p>“How long have you been dating?” Denise asks.</p><p>Nick scoffs, Steve snorts his wine, trying to drink, and Dean sniggers.</p><p>“We’re not dating,” Dean says. “I’m very much single and available,” he adds and waggles his eyebrows meaningfully at Denise. She bends her neck, strokes a lock of hair out of her face, and looks at him from under her lashes, eyes full of sparkling promises. She’s pretty. Lithe, with a sensuous body language and an easy smile. But best of all, she doesn’t live around here so flirting with her comes with minimal drama.</p><p>“Duly noted,” she answers.</p><p>Yep. It’s in the bag. Dean won’t be sleeping alone tonight. Unless he puts his foot in his mouth, that is. Best to get that out of the way right now. Dean looks at Ella. “Hey, so, with the risk of making this conversation awkward. Nick’s the one insisting we go shopping tomorrow, right? I know they’re all helping you pay for hormones, therapy, bloodwork, and saving for surgery. I don’t want to infringe on that. I’ve been perfectly content living out of a backpack all my life. I don’t need special furniture or whatever. But Nick insists.”</p><p>Ella’s lips pull up on one side. “I’m well aware, Dean. My brothers have updated me on every little observation they’ve made about you. And so, I endorse this.”</p><p>Dean chuckles, alarmed by the phrasing but trying not to show it.</p><p>“I’m fine even without their help. Dad sees to it. And I’m very much looking forward to this IKEA trip with you, so don’t try to worm out of it,” Ella adds.</p><p>Dean holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Okay so while we edged in to talk about, um, stuff. I’ve never met girls like you before, and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna end up saying something stupid without meaning to. So can we acknowledge that I’m a dumbass and let me ask a couple of stupid questions straight away? Or should we wait until I’m too drunk to brain words?”</p><p>Ella and Denise share a look. “Ask away. We might not answer, but you’re free to ask,” Ella says diplomatically.</p><p>“Okay, so, you’re both on hormones, right? No surgeries yet?” Both girls nod. “I didn’t realize you’d get boobs by only taking hormones. That’s awesome. How long have you been on them, and how long did it take before y’all began changing?”</p><p>“We’ve both been on them for three years now, but the first changes started about a month in…” Ella gives a short account of her experience and then answers Dean’s follow-up question about possible health side-effects, need-to-know information in a crisis situation, and things like that.</p><p>“Okay, so, um…” Dean rubs his neck, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I’m bi, right? I’ve just figured that out. And I’m gonna come out and say it, I’m a shameless bottom. If I were to hook up with a girl who’s like you, can I ask her if she’s a top or a bottom? Or would that cause her to feel uncomfortable? Is there a certain etiquette? Usually, when things are heating up I’m pretty direct, but I wouldn’t want to trigger any whatsitcalled, dysphoria.”</p><p>“Communication is key,” Denise says. “It’s not uncommon that we, who take hormones, have a difficult time getting an erection. And many of us get a more sensitive penis that needs to be handled gently. I personally refer to mine as a clit. We may not want penetrative sex at all. It’s very individual.”</p><p>“As long as you talk to your partner openly and respectfully there shouldn’t be a problem,” Ella agrees.</p><p>“I personally wouldn’t mind topping if I hooked up with a guy who declared he’s a shameless bottom,” Denise adds and bites her lip over a smile, looking at Dean meaningfully.</p><p>
  <em>It’s in the fucking bag.</em>
</p><p>“Awesome,” Dean says and winks, trying not to look smug. “Next question. I’ve noticed both of y’all’s makeup is on point. You know how girls put on makeup but look like they haven’t, yet at the same time are ten times more beautiful? Could you teach me how to do that?”</p><p>That’s how Dean finds himself on the couch half an hour later, getting his nails painted by Ella and his makeup done by Denise. Steve teases him. “That’s so gay, bro. A little more of that crap and your dick’s gonna fall right off.”</p><p>“Don’t care. Fuck off. I’m being petted,” Dean jokes, enjoying the girls’ quiet sniggers. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Ask girls to put makeup on you and they’ll fall all over themselves to touch you, using you as their very own make-up doll.</p>
<hr/><p>Ella comes into Nick’s room and sits on the bed. Nick puts the book away and lifts the blanket to let her crawl down beside him. She’s always welcome to a guest room but she never takes the offer, sleeping in his bed instead. Part of him hates it because he can’t cuddle up to her and hold her. Their reactions to the traumas in their life have been vastly different, despite the similarities. For him it meant being overly sexual and platonically physical, she, instead, became touch averse. “How are you doing, Nicky?” she asks and lays on her side facing him, supporting her face in her hand.</p><p>He sighs. She’s left the door open. To him, it doesn’t matter much, but she can’t sleep with the door closed. That’s a thing that’s gotten worse the further she’s gotten in her therapy. It was never a problem when they all lived at home. “Fine. Sort of. Split between being me, and trying to do the right thing,” he says dejectedly. “Last Sunday Dean cracked a comment about this being a safehouse for queer kids, and it’s eating at me. It’s like hearing Hansel and Gretel calling the witch’s gingerbread house a safehouse.”</p><p>Ella chuckles. “It’s not that hard, Nicky. They don’t have anything healthy and normal to compare it to. You don’t have to make it more than it is. Just being roommates with them is more than enough.”</p><p>Nick draws a knee up and traces the pattern on the duvet cover over his thigh. “Dollface, a boy I attacked with murderous intent called me his safe space. It fucks me up and makes me want it to be true,” he says, his sarcastic tone not matching how he feels.</p><p>“Technically, he called your house a safe space,” Ella, all too reasonably, points out with a smirk.</p><p>Nick gives her a resentful look that makes her snigger. “They were dumb enough to move in with me. They’re mine now. I’ll never let them go.”</p><p>“So adopting strays is your new obsession, huh?” Ella grins, eyes twinkling in the dusky light.</p><p>Nick’s about to answer but is interrupted by a wail coming from Dean’s room. There are three hard thumps on the wall, then Steve yells, “Bro! Bite the fucking pillow! I’m trying to sleep!”</p><p>Nick and Ella collapse in giggles, missing Dean’s shouted response.</p><p>“It’s revenge for me having to listen to you banging Sam, dickwad!” Nick yells, then laughs out loud when Steve calls him, “Assmunch!” back.</p><p>“Did you tell Dean what happened to Denise yesterday?” Ella asks.</p><p>“I just told him she was assaulted. Nothing much happened, right?”</p><p>Ella inspects the back of her hand with a self-satisfied smirk. There are bruises on her knuckles but they’re barely visible in the dark. “No. I showed up in time. Taught the guy the real meaning of the expression, ‘hit like a girl,’” she says.</p><p>Nick sniggers with contentment blossoming in his chest. Like him, Ella was always a fighter that didn’t back down. And just like him, it had meant she’d gotten her ass kicked more often than others, but her assailants hadn’t walked off unscathed, which was the important part.</p><p>“Your boy has done a lot to make Denise feel like a woman tonight,” Ella remarks. Nick’s pretty damned impressed, actually. Not once had Dean slipped on the pronouns or said something like, ‘Back when you were a boy,’ when talking about the past.</p><p>Nick asks, “What do you think of him?”</p><p>“It’s hard not to be endeared when he tells us he’s about to put his foot in his mouth, then, when we’re bracing for offensive questions he goes on to ask how he can avoid causing dysphoria, what problems we’re facing, how our treatment affects our health and what to tell the ambulance staff if something should happen. Boob-comments aside, I think every trans-related question he asked was geared to help him make us feel safe and respected.”</p><p>“Well… he is a manipulative little shit,” Nick concedes and looks at the ceiling. He thinks of Dean saying he’s never sat at the queer table before, asking how he could best fit in. Everything he did, aimed to make him accepted by the given group.</p><p>“At one point he put his arm around me,” Ella goes on. Nick’s instantly alert, looking at her. “As soon as I told him that I don’t like strangers touching me he stepped away with a flustered joke about how he was touch-starved because his mom didn’t hug him enough,” she says, and Nick relaxes knowing Dean didn’t force unwanted contact. “I don’t think it was a joke, though. Especially with his comment about being petted when we did his makeup. You heard that, right?”</p><p>“Mhm. It certainly explains why the cheek kiss became a thing we do,” Nick says thoughtfully.</p><p>Ella sniggers. “You’re such a cute couple. It’s a shame Mike and Sam are in the picture or I’d have told you to reel him in. Is Mike coming tomorrow?”</p><p>“Yes. Once the risk of getting roped into shopping with us has passed,” Nick smirks.</p><p>“I feel sorry for him.”</p><p>“Serves him right. It’s payback for all the times I had to see him make out with my Sam.”</p><p>Ella sniggers at his grumpiness.</p>
<hr/><p>IKEA is its own kind of hell and Nick wishes he could’ve stayed at home with Denise instead of driving the van for the excursion. Luckily, Ella loves it, and makes it a bit more fun, trying out furniture and playfully pretending to have another life in every room-installation they find. It’s silly, and Dean’s sucked into the game, giving Steve and Nick something to laugh about. Buying things for the common areas of the house isn’t a problem. Nick, Dean, and Steve have similar enough tastes in fabrics and knick-knacks. They buy a few more plants than Nick would’ve picked out for himself, but the rug for the living room, the throw pillows, curtains, and framed prints are all to his liking.</p><p>Some goofing around amongst the stuffed toys makes Nick grab the huge, soft elephant (JÄTTESTOR) that Steve can’t seem to let go of, and puts it in the basket. A Babygay should have a baby elephant to cuddle with. Steve makes a show of protesting but Nick catches him giving the elephant a pet in the cart when nobody’s within sight.</p><p>The tricky part comes when they’re looking for stuff for Steve and Dean’s rooms. Steve? No problem. An extra dresser for his clothes, a large wall-mounted mirror, and a bookshelf. Steve even has the guts to ask if they can turn one of the rooms currently unused and unfinished into an office. Maybe put in two desks facing each other so they can hang out when doing things that require a desk. Or maybe not make it an office, but a hobby room? Since Nick and Dean both enjoy building stuff, and the desks could be used for all kinds of tinkering. “This is gonna sound really dumb,” Steve says, looking away and scratching his neck. “But I don’t want a desk in my bedroom. This feels more grown-up.” Nick thinks it’s a great idea, and they decide to not buy anything for the hobby office until next month. That way they’ve got time to make decisions and brainstorm how they want it.</p><p>Dean’s the tricky case. “Nah. I don’t need anything. The room already has everything I need,” he says with a bright smile. It’s a fucking lie. All Nick’s guest rooms have Queen sized beds because Nick likes when his siblings stay over and if they’ve got partners they need to be able to sleep comfortably. They’ve got a bedside table and a dresser. That’s it. That’s not everything you need.</p><p>“That’s bullshit, Dean. That room is going to be your home for as long as you want. You go and pick some damn furniture that you like or I’ll have to do it. And I don’t know you well enough to predict what will soothe your soul. Thus far all I can guesstimate is a guitar stand with a guitar on it, and lamps, so you can take good selfies. So you go, and you pick,” Nick argues, temper short.</p><p>Dean looks away, smiling. He rubs the back of his neck. His eyes fall on the cutlery display beside them. He reaches out and starts aligning all the forks, adjusting them to lie stacked perfectly straight.</p><p>
  <em>OCDing. In a fucking store. In-fucking-credible.</em>
</p><p>Nick leans closer. “Dean. I’m not kidding. <em>Go.</em>”</p><p>Dean’s gaze flicks to Nick’s. “Yeah, alright,” he agrees and wanders off.</p><p>Then he’s fucking gone.</p><p>Nick’s at his wits end. He finds Ella 20 minutes later (at least she and Steve had checked in with him). She’s standing still, looking at something. “Hey…” Nick says quietly not to disturb her focus.</p><p>“Sssh. He’s having a moment of some sort,” Ella answers and nods into a room display where Dean’s sitting by a desk with a dummy-computer. “About ten minutes ago he looked to be having a mild panic attack, then he was smiling and talking to the computer monitor, and now he’s just sitting there, stroking the desk.</p><p>“It’s a computer desk meant for gaming, isn’t it?” Nick asks. He throws a look at the tag hanging from its side, saying FREDDE in big, bold letters.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Nick grunts and goes to break Dean out of the spell. Dean doesn’t notice him until Nick crouches down beside him and puts a hand on his thigh. “Hey, honey, is this one you want?”</p><p>Dean jerks, torn from wherever his mind had gone off to. “Um… I guess.”</p><p>“It comes in black too,” Nick says.</p><p>“I know black looks cooler, but…”</p><p>“But you want the white one. Okay. Then that’s what we’ll get. You’ll have to pick out a nice chair for it too. Then it’s time for Swedish meatballs or I might legit tear someone’s head off.”</p><p>In the end, Dean picks out the FREDDE desk, a matching white JÄRVFJÄLLET desk chair, a couple of BILLY bookcases, and a potted plant. He’s uncharacteristically quiet and subdued despite the perpetual smile and it’s stressing Nick out.</p><p>Once they get home and it’s time to put together what they’ve bought, Dean turns back to his old self. Denise helps Dean while Nick helps Steve, and Ella goes to buy them pizza. Steve teases Dean about his choices of furniture. “It looks like a damn teenager’s room.”</p><p>“Bro, I haven’t been a teenager a single day of my life,” Dean counters jokingly. Nick's pretty sure it’s not really a joke.</p><p>When they’re done, including changing sheets and duvet covers, Steve’s room’s screaming ‘Masculine!’ on top of its voice, with grays and blues and dark furniture. The big elephant plushie lies in the middle of the bed, making Nick smile. The bookcase holds the knick-knacks Steve had saved from the attic - things he’s made and trophies won.</p><p>Dean’s room isn’t screaming much of anything, except maybe clean. The furniture is all white, and so are the curtains, duvet cover, and sheets. The only thing saving it from looking sterile is the plant, a couple of colorful throw pillows, and a bright red blanket folded over the bottom of the bed. But Dean’s grinning like a maniac. “I’m gonna get string lights in color, and maybe a lava lamp. Then I’ll get…” he rattles off a list of ideas he has for his room and they all seem to be in the line of ‘colorful things that glow.’ Nick would never have guessed it, but Dean’s friendship with Gabe is starting to make a lot more sense.</p>
<hr/><p>Mike steps inside the living room and surveys the guests. Earlier this day Sam called and told him they were planning to throw Steve a surprise housewarming party since Sam had promised Steve champagne when he finally got away from his dad. Mike called Gabe so both of them come bringing gifts. Partway there, Nick texted and wondered if Gabe had any colorful string lights he could donate to “Dean's lack of taste”. So, they went back to get string lights and that's why they're late.</p><p>It’s odd to see so many people in Nick’s living room. They’ve had parties here before, usually after-parties when they’ve been out drinking then piled into a cab together, bringing a couple of girls. But this is different. Sam’s friends are here along with Angela, plus Ella and one of her roommates.</p><p>Mike doesn’t get a chance to take stock of the crowded room because Ella catches him in a crushing hug. He loves it. He’d like to hug his sister a lot more but because of what she’s going through they’re letting her initiate all physical contact. “Hey, Ella. How’s it going? You had fun today?”</p><p>“You know I did.” Ella leans back and lets go of him with one arm to cup his cheek with a regretful expression. “And I’m sorry, sweetie.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>Ella turns her head with a pointed look at the couch. Mike follows her gaze and his heart immediately drops. Dean’s sitting with Denise on his lap, kissing her.</p><p>“Aw, fuck,” Mike mutters quietly.</p><p>“I know. I know. I doubt it’s of any comfort, but I think Dean would make a better boyfriend to Nick than you anyway.”</p><p>Mike frowns and looks back at Ella. “Why?”</p><p>“Because I haven’t seen him have such a good couple dynamic with anyone since Aze. They act like a couple, and when Dean’s around, Nick shows himself from his best side without even seeming to notice.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t call Aze and Nick’s dynamics good,” Mike remarks.</p><p>Ella lowers her hand to his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you? Drugs aside?”</p><p>Mike runs his tongue over his teeth under closed lips. Ella’s right. Nick had loved Aze with the force of nature, and Aze loved him back equally. They did a lot of bad things together, but not to each other. Nick had expressed concern for Mike, and Aze’s reaction to that was to bundle Nick into his car and go to Mike because everything that was important to Nick was important to Aze and vice versa. They had care and communication, packaged in a way that Nick could accept it. Sadly, they also shared one brain cell and it was high, often as not.</p><p>Mike’s not sure how to feel about Nick and Dean developing that type of bond. But he’s sure of how he feels about Dean trading slow and sensuous kisses with Denise. It hurts. It hurts something awful. “You’re right,” he concedes and fakes a smile. Deep inside of him, there’s jealous anger stirring. It’s a new feeling, unlike the usual acceptance he has about things like this.</p><p>Gabe comes stomping by carrying two big boxes. “Hey, hey, hey! We heard there was a housewarming party going on so we come bearing gifts!” he loudly declares.</p><p>Dean finally stops kissing Denise, turning his head towards them with a smile. His gaze meets Mike’s and the smile freezes on his face for a beat. Mike widens his own fake smile and jerks his chin upward in greeting.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean opens his eyes and tears himself from Denise’s lovely lips to holler his greeting at Gabe. But before he’s even opened his mouth to speak his eyes land on Mike.</p><p>
  <em>Oh fuck.</em>
</p><p>His pulse instantly starts racing, the anxious ball in his belly coming to life full force, twisting and turning.</p><p>Mike smiles at him and nods a greeting.</p><p>Dean relaxes incrementally.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe this won’t mean drama after all?</em>
</p><p>“Whatcha got for him, Gabe?” Dean hollers, looking at Gabe instead.</p><p>Gabe puts down two big pastry boxes on the living room table. “I’ve got what you casually refer to as porn,” Gabe grins at Dean, waggling his eyebrows, then lifts the top of the first box. Inside there are two large half-orbs like you’d taken a silver ball and cut it in half. The smooth surface is shiny and has a rainbow sheen as if it has a layer of oil on top. Gabe looks at Steve who’s leaning forward from an armchair with Annie on his lap, both of them peering at the silvery balls bemusedly. “In honor of your giant balls of steel that you flashed us last weekend,” Gabe declares.</p><p>“Thanks, bro. But what the hell is it?” Steve asks, frowning in confusion.</p><p>“It’s cake!” Dean declares excitedly, then looks at Gabe. “It is, isn’t it?” It’s the only logical conclusion after seeing the photos Gabe had on his phone.</p><p>“Yup,” Gabe agrees proudly. “That’s cherry and that’s peach,” he says and points at the two halves, then grows several smug inches as people oooh and aaah over them. He lifts the top of the other carton to reveal loads of silver balls slightly smaller than tennis balls. “I didn’t know how many we were going to be so I made these too,” he said. “But these are randomized.”</p><p>“Uh-oh,” Nick sniggers. “That means they could have any flavor. Like wasabi or blue cheese.”</p><p>Sam coos and reaches out for one, but Nick slaps his hand away. “Nu-uh-uh. Nobody gets anything before Babygay has taken a piece.”</p><p>Dean leans back and patiently waits for the cake to be served while people chatter away. He’s stroking Denise’s midriff with his thumb, laughing when it’s appropriate to laugh, making jokes. Mike and Gabe go away and come back with another gift. Mike’s giving Steve his home-exercise equipment since he doesn’t use it as much anymore and doesn’t have as far to go to a gym. Which is awesome, okay? But it would be even more awesome if someone could cut the cake and if Mike could stop looking at him all the time.</p><p>The cake turns out to be a rainbow cake with jam filling. The ‘metal’ is a thin, painted layer of white chocolate. Dean repeats his offer to marry Gabe. Inside, his skin is crawling because Mike is smiling but not engaging the right muscles by the eyes. Dean’s <em>fucked</em>.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean’s heart beats wildly in his chest. He hates being alone but he hates it, even more, when he’s in a social situation he can’t control. He hasn’t been drinking intelligently and makes his way upstairs on unsteady legs. He notices Mike get up from his chair to follow him.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck fuck fuck! I knew there was gonna be trouble! I fucking knew it!</em>
</p><p>Still, when he gets upstairs and goes to the bathroom he leaves the door unlocked, knowing full well trouble will follow. He’s just started peeing when the door opens and Mike slinks inside. The click when Mike locks rings thunderous in Dean’s head.</p><p>
  <em>I'm an idiot.</em>
</p><p>“Nobody told me you were coming, okay?” Dean says, not giving Mike a chance to speak, pressing his lips to a thin line, looking at Mike standing by the door. “You’re mad, but you ain’t got no right to be.”</p><p>“I’m not mad,” Mike refutes with a smile.</p><p>“Yes you are. I can smell ‘mad’ from miles away." <em>Fuck knows that's the truth.</em> "You took one look at me and her and got pissed off,” Dean accuses, shakes himself off, and uses a small piece of toilet paper to dab his dick dry.</p><p>“I’m not mad, Dean. You’ve never made any promises,” Mike says and approaches Dean as Dean tucks himself in and moves to wash his hands. Mike’s arms slide around Dean from the back, his body pressing close; familiar, welcome.</p><p>“Mike. I may fool around with more than one person, but not at the same par―<em>Oh fuck.</em>” Dean cuts himself off and shudders in pleasure when Mike’s lips find the sensitive spot behind his ear and his hands come up under the shirt to tease Dean’s nipples with juuust the right pressure. “Mike, please,” he begs. He means ‘please stop’ but falls one word short. Fuck.</p><p>
  <em>Dumbass. I’m such a fucking dumbass. I should never have gotten involved with him.</em>
</p><p>Mike kisses his way down the side of Dean’s neck and removes one hand from Dean’s chest to pull his collar aside so he can take a wet bite out of Dean’s shoulder. They’ve been hooking up too often or Mike wouldn’t know his body this well yet. Damn Mike and his attentiveness.</p><p>Dean shuts the water off, hands still dry. "Mikey, come on. I've got a girl waiting downstairs." He turns around and grabs Mike by his upper arms, intending to gently but firmly push him off. Instead, he feels the firm muscles underneath. Today Mike’s wearing a black button-up with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Mike’s fucking arms keep starring in Dean’s head when he’s got some quality time with himself. “I ain’t the kind of guy who abandons my date on the dance floor to go fuck someone else.” Oh, he has done it in the past. It’s the kind of thing that blows up in your face one way or another.</p><p>It’s a valiant attempt. But Mike drags his lips up along Dean’s throat, tongue dancing over the tender skin, cups Dean’s ass, and presses them tightly together. Mike’s mouth finds his and Dean reciprocates the kiss, opening up to let Mike deepen it. Without meaning to, Dean rolls his hips to feel more. Mike smells so damn good. He tastes heavily of alcohol, but undoubtedly, so does Dean.</p><p>“Come on, Mike,” Dean says between kisses, “Don’t make me that guy.” He’d make a much more convincing case if he hadn’t cupped Mike’s neck with one hand and slipped his arm around Mike to fan out his hand over his lower back. He’s such a perfect fit, with curves in all the right places. He doesn’t get those who describe men as flat or sharp-edged and ‘all angles’. They’re men, not tesseracts, for crying out loud. A few more spine-tickling kisses and Dean’s resistance is wearing thin. “You got condoms on ya? Mine’s in my room.” Mike smiles against his lips and reaches for his back pocket. Dean thrills with anticipation and self-hate.</p>
<hr/><p>Half an hour later it seems he got away with his dumbfuckery. He’s back on the couch and Denise is set on making out. Back when he was younger he’d gotten a misplaced satisfaction out of pulling stunts like this. It comes with a certain adrenalin boost to creep, especially when playing with two girls at the same time and place. He’d felt a disdainful sort of smugness―the sort of smugness Mike’s currently trying to veil―when he faced the deceived partner. But that was years ago. Now it only worsens his anxiety and makes him feel bad.</p><p>
  <em>It isn’t supposed to happen anymore! I’m playing with open cards, for fuck sake!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve told both of them I’m just in it for the fun. How did I manage to create drama out of it?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop fretting. Denise won’t find out and Mike isn’t mad anymore.</em>
</p><p>Denise kisses her way down his throat where Mike’s mouth had been less than 30 minutes ago, pulls his collar aside to kiss but abruptly leans away. “Where did you get that hickey?”</p><p>
  <em>FUCK!</em>
</p><p>“What hickey?” Dean can’t see it. He needs to have a chat with Mike because that shit is not okay. He ain’t allowed to mark his territory like a damned pissing dog. Sure, Denise is just his temporary hookup but you don’t make one-night-stands (two-night, if we’re being picky) feel like trash. Temporary or not, you don’t hurt your playmates.</p><p>Denise presses her finger against it. “This one. I don’t leave hickeys and you didn’t have it yesterday,” she accuses.</p><p>Dean chuckles.</p><p>
  <em>Think fast. Think fast. Think fast.</em>
</p><p>Sam and Ella are no longer in the room. They’re sitting at the kitchen table. He can see them from here through the doorway and Sam’s got his back to the living room, deeply engaged in conversation.</p><p>But Nick’s sitting beside them on the couch now, with Angela at his other side.</p><p>“Oh. Sorry, babe, that’s Nick’s,” Dean answers and leans forward so he can give Nick a slap on the arm and get his attention, hoping he can follow Dean’s backward logic and bro-code. And, if he can, he’ll consider Dean enough of a bro to play along. “Hey, asswipe. Didn’t I tell you not to leave marks? Like, have some fucking discretion,” he says and points at the place where Denise had pressed her finger.</p><p>“What mark? The hickey? Darlin’, I don’t <em>do</em> hickeys. That’s some high school bullshit. If I wanted to mark you up I’d write, ‘Belongs to Nick Lynch’ in permanent marker on your chest,” Nick answers with heavy eyelids and the loose body language of someone very drunk.</p><p>“Yeah. You said. And I told you no. But Denise didn’t leave this and you’re the only other person who could’ve,” Dean insists, faking annoyance. “If you’re gonna do it at least do it properly.”</p><p>Nick sways a little, regarding Dean for a second, then he smirks. “Don’t mind if I do,” he says, reaches over Denise to grab Dean’s shirt to pull him in, and attaches himself to Dean’s lower throat, giving him the filthiest neck-kiss imaginable. Dean throws Mike a covert, dark look full of reproach before he lets his eyes fall shut to enjoy the treatment.</p><p>“Hey! You don’t get to do that!” Denise protests and elbows Nick in the ribs.</p><p>Nick grunts and pulls back with a self-satisfied, crooked smirk. “Of course I do. He’s my wife. You just get to borrow him.”</p><p>“Yes. And while I’m borrowing him you keep your hands off him,” Denise counters. “You have him back all to yourself tomorrow after we’ve left.”</p><p>“Do I? Promise?” Nick purrs teasingly.</p><p>Dean throws Mike another glance but Mike’s busy glaring at his brother.</p><p><em>Fucking great. More drama. The fuck did you want me to do, Mikey? Tell the truth? </em>you’re<em> the one who wants us to creep, remember? Asshole.</em></p><p>Okay, so, yeah. Involving Nick might have been abysmally stupid. But Denise has already seen the two of them be cutesy together so it isn’t much of a stretch to think Nick’s responsible for the hickey too. And out of the people there, Nick’s the one Dean expects to react like he himself would; to lie without a second thought and run with it.</p><p>
  <em>I hope he got that it was a bro-thing and I didn’t just open a door to more dumbassery.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I probably did, didn’t I?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ella didn't play a huge role on screen in this chapter but she'll resurface. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. CRUTCHES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes when life is hard you'll be getting crutches to help you move forward. Sam is one, without knowing. At the same time, he's got Steve, that he's well aware is a crutch. And Dean, when he finally gives in and talks to Dean.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>You guessed it - slurs. Do I have to keep warning about that?</p>
<p>Oh, and someone asked when we're going to talk about Sam's past trauma again. It's coming, but right now Sam's immediate depression is a lot more important to start dealing with. I'm setting up all our boys for success to a degree.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p>“Wanna get off?” Steve asks, stroking his hand down Sam’s stomach to cup his dick over the underwear.</p>
<p>Sam smiles into the pitch darkness. They can still hear the party go on downstairs; faint bass from the music and the occasional peal of laughter. Steve asked him to stay the night almost as soon as Sam arrived and Sam’s looked forward to sharing his bed, even if sex wasn’t necessarily on the table. “Yeah…”</p>
<p>"I don't make you feel cheap or used or something?" Steve asks and kisses his shoulder.</p>
<p>"No. At this point, you're the only one that doesn't. How on earth could you, when you gave up your life for me?"</p>
<p>Steve chuckles. "Bro. You're as dramatic as the bitches I'm living with. I didn't do it just for you. I did it for myself too."</p>
<p>"I know. I <em>know</em> that. But, like," Sam starts, but Steve interrupts him, removing his hand from Sam’s crotch to rest over his chest instead.</p>
<p>"Look, Samster, being in the closet sucks, okay? And a day before shit went down, Dad had a real nasty go at me. He narrowly missed my head with a fucking frying pan, bro. Like, I legit thought, 'this is it'. If I was gonna die I might as well do it as the buttboy I am. And seriously, I can't tell you how much it's bothered me that guys haven't wanted to say they'd fucked you. Even professor Marcus seems set on stuffing you into the closet. Like that bullshit about not wanting to be seen having coffee with you. <em>Nobody</em> suspects him of being anything but straight. <em>Nobody</em> would think you're fucking if they saw you have coffee."</p>
<p>"I guess."</p>
<p>Steve’s fingers caress lightly over Sam’s chest. He was the one suggesting they get off, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get going. Neither is Sam. Everything about Steve has had him in a state of confusion, humility, and warmth. It wars with guilt. If he just had remembered to hide from Cherry… "You could've told me you and Brady were dating, you know? I wouldn't have told anyone," Steve says.</p>
<p>"Wha― How did you know?"</p>
<p>"Oh, you missed that? We played never have I ever and Denise said, 'Never have I ever had sex with someone of the same gender identity as me,’ and Brade drank to that. You were in the kitchen with Ella but I thought you heard us howl about it.”</p>
<p>“Heard the howl, but the conversation I had with Ella was too interesting.”</p>
<p>Steve sniggers. “Yeah, well, we insisted Brade talk, and he said the split between you two was because you broke up.”</p>
<p>“If he’d just told me we were boyfriends, that could’ve been avoided. How am I supposed to know we’re dating if he doesn’t tell me?” Sam complains, getting annoyed.</p>
<p>Steve chuckles lowly. “Chill, bro. Brade said that too. He said that he was in love with you and that you never made any promises, so technically it wasn’t a breakup, but it felt like it. He didn’t blame you.”</p>
<p>“It did feel like it,” Sam agrees. “Everything is new to me. It’s like I’m learning after the fact what everyone else already knows. And, and, after Brady and I broke up, I was devastated. But he’d asked for space to get over me in hopes of salvaging our friendship. I didn’t have anyone to talk to and it didn’t feel right to force him to comfort me. And, um, I…”</p>
<p>“Yeah? I’m listening, bro.”</p>
<p>“Um. I’d never felt so alone in my whole life. I- I- I know when I’m wanted, right? I can see the way men look at me. I’d seen Professor Marcus look at me that way, and I was desperate for a distraction,” Sam confesses.</p>
<p>“Damn. I wish you’d figured me out sooner. Maybe you wouldn’t be in the jam you are now.”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “I had no idea about you. You hid it so well. I didn’t figure it out until we were in that bathroom and I showed you my dick.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Really. I was just out of fucks to give. I wasn’t in a good place when I gave you that BJ. But it turned out to be one of the best decisions in my life.”</p>
<p>Steve snuggles closer and Nuzzles Sam’s shoulder. “Same, bro. You know―” he cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “Can we have one of those <em>talks</em>? I’ve tried to talk feelings and shit with Dean but he’s like, ‘Feelings? No, I don’t know her. Oh, look, a bird!’ and wanders off.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs. “Yeah, he doesn’t do chick-flick moments.”</p>
<p>“That’s bull. Nick and he do them all the time. One moment you think fists are gonna fly and the next they’re cooped up together all, ‘I feel this and I want that.’ But you try talking to them the same way and they freak. Like, I get uncomfortable talking about feelings too, but fuck sake, chill.”</p>
<p>Sam giggles. “I like talking feelings with you.”</p>
<p>Steve huffs, his breath tickling Sam’s chest. “A’ight.” He’s quiet for a while and Sam waits patiently. The only light in the room is a dim outline of the door. It smells of alcohol, detergent, and faint sweat. Sam reflects how strange it is that a scent that he’d hated growing up―alcohol―could come to mean the opposite when put in a different context and combined with other scents. “The night you gave me that BJ,” Steve says, tone serious, “I drank myself shitfaced and went home to cry my fucking eyes out. I felt so fucking dirty. I’ve known I was gay since forever, but up until that BJ, I thought I could fake my way through life. Like, I could marry someone like Annie, have a few kids, have sex a couple of times a year, hang with my buddies and complain about my wife, and never fucking ever act on my feelings for guys.”</p>
<p>Sam keeps quiet and listens.</p>
<p>“You and I, we weren’t even friends back then. We just happened to hang out with each other. And when you were on your knees before me in that toilet… I fucking got it, you know? All the fuss about sex and romance and whatever. I fucking hated it. My first meaningful sexual experience and I was demeaning you as badly as Dad, hiding away in a fucking toilet on a time crunch.”</p>
<p>“I never held it against you.”</p>
<p>“Of course you don’t,” Steve says with heated annoyance. “You’ve been disrespected and disregarded so often that you think it’s okay. <em>You</em> think that you’re in the wrong when you’re uncomfortable with what others do to you. <em>You</em> freak out and feel guilty when people do right by you. It’s fucked up.” Steve sighs, calming down. “That morning, when I came to you, hoping you’d give me something I couldn’t fucking ask for… I’ve thought of that moment so often. You just kept asking over and over if I was okay. I was an asshole and you still expressed genuine fucking concern, refusing to drag me down in the dirt.”</p>
<p>“I don’t remember asking if you were okay?” Sam says with a bemused frown.</p>
<p>“You used other words. ‘Are you sure you want this?’, ‘You’re drunk, you might regret it. Are you sure?’, ‘Does this feel good?’, ‘You want me to stop?’ And then right after you gave me the opportunity to talk, really listening to me.” Steve suddenly sniggers. “Remember what you said about my bruises? I didn’t think much about it right then, but I’ve had a laugh about it afterward. You went, ‘BDSM?’” He shakes his head, snorting a chuckle. “Like, <em>bro</em>, what the hell? I know you shouldn’t kink-shame, but, really?”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles self-consciously. “Um. Yeah. I’m, I’m not into it. Not really. But people I’ve been with were, so…”</p>
<p>“And you just put up with it?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs, jostling Steve’s head resting on his shoulder. “I guess. But, um, so get this. When it comes to BDSM, there are many things that go into it, right? It’s not just whips and chains. And, and, I guess, I kinda liked some parts of subbing? But that’s very dependent on who the dom is and how they treat you, right? And I don’t think I could ever dom if I was asked to. Claire wanted me to be rough and degrading with her. I- I- I- could do the rough part, barely. But I couldn’t make myself call her the things she wanted me to call her. I know that wasn’t BDSM but with some doms the difference is negligible.”</p>
<p>“As long as you don’t insist on us trying. I ain’t never gonna smack my partner around. I did it to a girl who asked me to and it brought out some pretty dark sides in me I never want to see again.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? It makes sense. You’re very caring.”</p>
<p>Steve laughs. He laughs so hard he curls in on himself and then flops over on his back with a “<em>Pheeew</em>. Bro, Nobody in their right mind would describe me as caring.”</p>
<p>Sam rolls after him, grinning, and puts an arm over Steve’s chest, supporting his head with his other hand. “First off, I’m <em>not</em> in my right mind. Secondly, they don’t know you like I do. And thirdly, I think many would describe you as caring and it’s <em>you</em> that wouldn’t use that word,” he says matter-of-factly.</p>
<p>Steve giggles, slaps a hand on Sam’s face, and feels around as if to get his bearings in the pitch dark, then heaves himself up to give Sam a wet kiss on the lips. “A’ight. I’d probably win the self-hate Olympics, so the fuck do I know how others see me?” He falls back again, sniggering.</p>
<p>“How are you doing? I mean, after what happened,” Sam asks. He can’t understand how someone as great as Steve could hate himself.</p>
<p>Steve’s quiet for a beat. “Honestly? I’m a fucking mess,” he admits at last. “I’ve always been terrified of Dad, and mostly I hate him. But it hasn’t all been bad. My mom abandoned me, but he was there. He came to all my games, paid for fucking everything I felt like doing, taught me how to drive. I remember him sitting on my bedside reading me to sleep, throwing balls with me in the yard and shit like that. And then the fucker went and threw that out the window in the blink of a fucking eye, like it was nothing. Like 21 fucking years meant nothing to him.”</p>
<p>Steve swallows audibly. Once. Twice. Sam doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing.</p>
<p>“I, uh…” When Steve speaks again his voice is unsteady. “I hadn’t expected to be this sad. I’m fucking heartbroken, Sam. I know he’s an asshole and I know he’s in the wrong, and I shouldn’t―” He halts to take a deep shuddering breath. “I shouldn’t <em>want</em> him to love me or give a damn about me. But I do. I fucking do, and I hate it.”</p>
<p>Sam tips over to land with his nose on Steve’s shoulder. He scoots to press his body firmly alongside Steve’s and gets his forehead nuzzled for his efforts. “I don’t know what to say.” He hesitates for a bit, then, “I miss my dad like crazy sometimes but I’m terrified of ever meeting him again. There’s stuff he’s done that I didn’t even remember that’s been coming back to me. And things I thought were normal that weren’t. But I was so isolated so I didn’t really have anything to compare to. And now… Like, part of me wants to crawl back to him and let him take care of me and make all these hard, conflicting feelings go away. Make it go back to how it used to be. But, I can’t, right? I can’t. And if I go back, it will only get worse. Like Pandora’s box. I’ve opened it, and now I can’t go back. But I still miss him.”</p>
<p>“He only hit you that one time, right?”</p>
<p>Sam instantly feels guilty. He’s had it so much easier than Steve. He’s dumb to compare them. “Yeah. But there were other things…”</p>
<p>Steve chuckles at his tone. “Sam, there are so many ways to fuck up someone. I didn’t mean you had it easy or some shit like that just because your dad didn’t use you as a punching bag. Honestly, bro. It isn’t a fucking competition.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay…” Sam says and smiles softly, relieved. Steve’s right. They weren’t comparing what happened to them, but how they both missed the people that hurt them.</p>
<p>“You wanna talk more? Or do you wanna get off? I can do both. But I feel helluva lot better having talked and now I’m horny,” Steve says.</p>
<p>Sam sniggers. He’s not sure exactly what was said to make Steve feel better, but he’s fine with leaving the unpleasant subjects for now. “Get off. Want to see if we can make Dean and Denise wake up?”</p>
<p>“I like the way you think,” Steve chuckles darkly.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam knocks on Dean’s door and waits until he gets a, ‘Come in!’ before he enters. Dean’s lying on his bed wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, staring at the empty desk at the other end of the room. The walls in both Dean’s and Steve’s rooms are white, but Steve’s room doesn’t draw attention to it like Dean’s. Dean’s room is pristine, but with elements of vibrant colors. This morning, Dean woke Sam and Steve up by putting up a small shelf under the ceiling where he’d attached the string lights Gabe gave him so they’re hanging like a curtain behind the bed, shining pink, blue, green, yellow, and red. There are three brightly colored throw pillows on the bed and a bright red blanket.</p>
<p>“Hey. What are you doing?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>“Regretting all my life’s choices. You?” Dean jokes.</p>
<p>Sam huffs, partly amused, partly bemused. “Nothing.” He looks around at the room. “This is so different than I expected. I would’ve thought you’d go for dark wood and manly colors. Maybe some posters of classic rock bands.”</p>
<p>“That’s dad’s taste. Don’t get me wrong, I like the music, but it’s not my aesthetic.”</p>
<p>“The walls are so empty. You used to put up posters and other wall ornaments the first thing you did when we moved,” Sam says, looking at the white walls and empty bookshelves.</p>
<p>“I did that here too. Like I always do. Find old magazines in the trash and slap anything that’s more picture than text on the wall. But Nick is fucking weird. Came in and asked a bunch of questions about the pictures on the walls and when I couldn’t answer, he was all, ‘No. Make this <em>your</em> home, not <em>a</em> home.’ So, yeah… I’ll figure it out.” He sits up and pulls a knee to his chest, wrapping his arms around the leg and resting his chin on his knee. “Hey, um, you know Nick better than I do. What’s his game?”</p>
<p>Sam frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, why’s he doing this? What does he want?” Dean makes a sweeping gesture, taking in the room. “I can’t figure it out.”</p>
<p>“Um… I don’t think he’s after something?” Sam answers and goes to sit down on the new desk chair. He swivels around to face Dean.</p>
<p>“Yeah, no. The world doesn’t work that way. Fuck, but it’s freaking me out. He’s said I’m welcome to stay here for two years. Hell, he’s even expressed himself in a way that can be interpreted as if there isn’t a time limit.”</p>
<p>Sam’s lips pull up in a corner. He doesn’t get why that would be alarming. More like practical. "So that's what he means. Why's that something to freak out about?"</p>
<p>"Because I want it. Fuck." Dean closes his eyes and puts his forehead against his knee, rubbing his hair back and forth with the hand not hugging his knee to his chest.</p>
<p>"I still don't get it."</p>
<p>Dean looks up again. "Of course you do. It's like all the promises. 'Tomorrow we'll go to the petting zoo', 'yes, you can go on the school excursion', 'On Wednesday we'll go to the beach', and, 'Of course we'll stay long enough for you to go to your graduation.' But then, it was all, ‘We’ll do it another day, I’m hung over’, ‘No, something came up, I gotta work’, ‘I don’t care if graduation is tomorrow, we’re leaving tonight.’ Like, fuck sake, it was only one more day.” He thumps his forehead against his knee a few times before putting his chin on it again. “You can’t want something because that only means disappointment. You remember."</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. "No. You took me to the petting zoo," he says. “You brought me along to the beach with your friends. And you and Dad were both at my graduation. You were about to graduate? I thought you dropped out?”</p>
<p>“Why the hell would I do that?”</p>
<p>“You were held back a year several times. I figured… I dunno.”</p>
<p>Dean makes a dismissive sound. “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t in the stars for me anyway.”</p>
<p>“Hey, so…” Sam shifts uncomfortably on the chair, uneasy about what Dean’s telling him, and uncertain about how he feels about what he’s about to ask. “Mike said you and Nick kissed yesterday?”</p>
<p>Dean’s expression goes flat and annoyed, the grip around his bent leg relaxing. “He did, huh? Fucking figures,” he says darkly. “And, no. That’s not what happened. Denise caught me with this,” he pulls aside his collar to reveal a hickey. “I didn’t have it earlier that day and she didn’t leave it there. I blamed Nick because I hoped that he would play along. I thought that if Denise threw a fit Nick would delight in taking the fight so I didn’t have to. Nick pulled me in to fake bettering the hickey and Denise didn’t throw a fit. Apparently, she thinks me and Nick act enough like a couple that Nick leaving hickeys on me is perfectly believable. I was off the hook.” Dean frowns. “Don’t look at me like that. I ain’t gonna mess around with your crush, okay? I ain’t. Give me some credit.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay. Who gave you the hickey?”</p>
<p>“None of your business. The person doesn’t want to be found out. I, like a fucking imbecile, thought they understood that it meant they can’t leave marks. Whelp. I was wrong,” Dean says bitterly.</p>
<p>“Who is it? You can tell me,” Sam urges. He wonders if it’s Mike. They’ve been on a date, after all, and Dean didn’t come home that night, even if Mike says nothing happened. Sam hates the thought that it’s anyone else of his friends.</p>
<p>“I can tell Dad your whereabouts too, but you asked me not to,” Dean snipes. “Respect my fucking secrets, Sammy.” He doesn’t let Sam answer. “Speaking of secrets. Why are you failing in school?”</p>
<p>“What? I- I- I’m not failing,” Sam stutters, flailing anxiously inside.</p>
<p>“Yeahuh. Not buying it. You were seen getting a C. I’m hard-pressed to believe college is too hard for you, but the fuck do I know? I thought you were too busy to meet up with me because you were studying, because that’s what you’ve been telling me, right? But maybe freedom has made you ignore school to party, or whatever."</p>
<p>"No." Sam runs a hand through his hair. "It's not―" He searches for words, feeling guilty. Dean will get pissed like always if he finds out that Sam's disregarded homework. He takes a deep breath and swallows. Dean's fully focused on him, waiting for a reply. "I, um. I've had trouble concentrating. And I'm constantly tired. And when I'm reading it's like the words won't stick. And, and," he considers lying, but decides against it, "some days I don't have the energy to get out of bed." He takes another deep breath. "I had a long talk with Ella yesterday, and she says it sounds like depression."</p>
<p>"So what you're saying is that you're feeling tired and sad and that's why you're not doing your homework as you should? And you're skipping class?"</p>
<p>Sam crosses his arms and looks away in the face of Dean's derogatory tone. It's more than just 'tired' and 'sad'. Ella had explained it so well, and yesterday it felt like he'd had a revelation, now he feels like he's only making excuses for himself for being irresponsible and lazy.</p>
<p>Dean drags a hand over his face, then gets off his bed and walks up to Sam, squatting down in front of him. "Alright. We'll fix this. Step one. Monday through Friday I'll come to you one hour before your lessons start to make sure you get up and go to class. Then Monday through Thursday after your last lesson we'll eat and spend two hours studying together. After that, you're free to do whatever, okay? It's minimal effort."</p>
<p>Sam's got mixed feelings. It sounds like a good plan and reeks of familiarity. Not that Sam ever had trouble studying before, but when he got jumped up two years Dean did this to help him catch up. "I can't. Tuesdays and Thursdays I meet with one of my professors after class."</p>
<p>"Great. I'll go with you. It'll help me wrap my head around what you're studying so I can better help you."</p>
<p>"No, I―" Sam catches himself. He's got no idea how Kelvin will react to Dean coming along, but one thing he's sure of is that Kelvin can't fuck him if Dean's there. "Yeah, okay."</p>
<p>"Awesome," Dean grins and gives Sam a friendly slap on the shoulder.</p>
<p>From downstairs, Nick calls out, "Honey, I'm hooome!"</p>
<p>"I'm in my room, poochie-poo!" Dean calls back.</p>
<p>"The fuck is wrong with you two?!" Steve yells from his room.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers and winks at Sam. "We'll fix this, okay? Trust me."</p><hr/>
<p>As usual, Sam can’t sleep. Tomorrow Dean will come to wake him up and he’s already regretting agreeing to it. However, knowing Dean, he wouldn’t have any choice in the matter.</p>
<p>Sam’s head is full of Steve like it’s been since Steve stood up for him. It’s hard not to feel guilty even if Steve says what happened wasn’t Sam’s fault. At the same time, it’s something huge and beautiful that someone would risk his life just to show Sam that he’s worthy of more than he’s getting.</p>
<p>
  <em>This is what Mike was talking about when he described love, wasn’t it?</em>
</p>
<p>Sam remembers strolling on the dock with Mike. They hadn’t been talking about romantic love then, but love in general. Mike had refuted that sex was the ultimate show of love, and instead said it was respect and unwavering support. Sam gets it now. Steve demonstrated it clearly. Sam doesn’t get how Steve interpreted Sam as being there for him the same way, though. Sam hasn’t done anything special. Like their middle-of-the-night talk yesterday. How did he make Steve feel better?</p>
<p>Kevin Tran snores softly on the other side of the room. The blinds let in a greyish light, painting shadow-stripes on the rug between the beds.</p>
<p>Sam longs for home but can’t decide if ‘home’ is Nick’s house, Mike’s apartment, or the motel room he lived in all summer. Kevin’s presence here makes Sam feel like he’s intruding.</p>
<p>He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up about ten minutes before Dean’s set to arrive. He doesn’t move from the bed. He needs to pee, but that would require moving. His eyes are dry and grainy, and his joints ache from too little sleep. He lies in a half slumber until he hears footsteps in the corridor outside. He’s expecting a knock on the door.</p>
<p>He’s not expecting Dean to shout, “Alexa! Play Bad Blood, by Taylor Swift on top volume!”</p>
<p>On Kevin’s desk, his Alexa activates and obediently agrees. So does several other Alexas in other rooms in the corridor.</p>
<p>Sam covers his mouth to stifle a giggle when Bad Blood starts blasting uncoordinatedly from several rooms, waking up Kevin with a yelp.</p>
<p>Outside, Dean cackles and knocks on the door.</p>
<p>Since Kevin is still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening, Sam rolls out of bed and goes to open. Dean stands outside grinning. “Man, it’s a hell and a half to get in here. It’s a fucking shame you don’t get spare keycards. No matter, I’ll get one somehow,” he says as he steps inside. “Off you go to shower. I’ll take care of breakfast.” He makes a shooing motion at Sam and turns to Kevin. “Good morning,” he chirps, ignoring Kevin’s glare. “It’s time to rise and shine. So you’re gonna have to answer a few questions. One, how do you like your coffee? You’re not one of those weird tea-drinkers, are you? I…” Sam chuckles and leaves Dean to harass Kevin in peace while he goes to shower. Dean’s perky morning energy is as grating as it’s contagious. Dean used to wake him up by playing loud music or banging pots and pans together all the time. Kevin is going to hate Dean.</p>
<p>Sam comes back when he’s showered and dressed. Dean and Kevin are engaged in a discussion about violins of all things. And… Kevin is smiling. Huh. There are takeaway bags from McDonalds and three Starbucks Venti cups on Kevin’s desk. Sam goes to join them.</p>
<p>Later, when Dean and Sam walk over campus towards the main building, Sam remarks, “It was kinda mean to wake everyone up like that.”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “Yeah? You think I should tell Alexa to order anal beads from Amazon instead? If they’re deep sleepers they might not even wake up.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs. Now he’s glad Dean decided that they’d do this. “That’s. That’s kinda scary, actually.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Rule number one: Never buy something that a bypasser can tell what to buy for you. Just saying,” Dean agrees.</p><hr/>
<p>The next morning Sam wakes up to Alexa playing ‘Honey, I’m good’ by Andy Grammer a few seconds before the knock comes. Kevin groans and meets Sam’s gaze. “He better be bringing coffee,” Kevin remarks and rolls out of bed to open the door.</p>
<p>Sam’s tired to the bone. Studying was easier when Dean sat by him, desperately reading through Sam’s books to catch up, helping him get his focus back when his mind wandered. But he’d had trouble falling asleep yesterday, worrying about his meeting with Professor Kelvin this afternoon.</p>
<p>The morning plays out the same as yesterday, except Dean brought homemade sandwiches for the three of them along with the Starbucks coffee. He follows Sam to his class and says goodbye with a promise to return after Sam’s last class for the day.</p>
<p>Sam skips lunch, too anxious to eat.</p>
<p>The closer it gets to his last class for the day, the worse it gets. When he enters Kelvin’s class he doesn’t even look at the Professor. His heart races and he feels cold and clammy. He spends the whole class focusing on breathing normally and not running out.</p>
<p>As promised, Dean meets him outside, happily chatting away about Gabe’s car that he’d started fixing up, teaching Steve how to do it as well, while they wait for the minutes to tick by until it’s time to go to Kelvin’s office. Sam can only smile and nod, mouth too dry to reply to Dean’s chatter.</p><hr/>
<p>“Come in!”</p>
<p>Dean opens the door to Professor Marcus’ office and leads the way in. Kelvin looks up with a smile that freezes for a beat when he sees that Sam isn’t alone.</p>
<p>Dean puts on his widest, friendliest smile and walks towards the desk, reaching out his hand in an offer to shake. “Hi, Professor. My name is Dean Winchester. I’m Sam’s older brother.”</p>
<p>Kelvin rises from his chair and shakes Dean’s hand. “Professor Kelvin Marcus. What can I do for you, Dean?” he asks with a quick look at Sam standing behind Dean. Sam resists the impulse to turn tail and bolt.</p>
<p>Dean sits down in one of the two guest chairs in front of Kelvin’s desk with a small gesture for Sam to do the same. “I’m here on Sam’s behalf. My brother’s currently struggling with depression, and as a result, his grades have been failing. He’s got trouble concentrating and absorbing information. As you no doubt understand, that makes me genuinely concerned,” Dean says, expression going earnest. Sam can’t count the times they’ve been in similar situations before; Sam sitting quietly in the office of a counselor, principal, teacher, or nurse, and Dean talking them out of some non-issue that made grownups worried. He never used to pay much attention back then, drifting in his head or reading while Dean talked.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Kelvin agrees, sitting down and leaning forward, supporting his elbows on the desk, interlacing his fingers.</p>
<p>“Right. So, currently, Sam has a scholarship and needs to keep his grades up to keep it. I would prefer it if he succeeds. At the same time, mental health issues are serious, and I don’t want Sam to struggle under the pressure of keeping his grades up on his own. Sam brought up his problems with me and I devised a plan to help combat them. I wake him up every morning and make sure he eats and goes to class, then in the afternoon, I help him study for two hours. No more, no less. By his standards, that’s minimal effort. The important part is that he gets some schoolwork done, then has time left for an active social life, and goes to bed timely every night.”</p>
<p>Kelvin presses his fingertips together and raises his hands, building a pyramid in front of his mouth. “Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Sam informed me he has a meeting with you twice every week. I’m assuming this is because you noticed his failing grades and help him study? He didn’t really specify.”</p>
<p>“That’s correct.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, so, the idea is that Sam studies two hours after classes and no more. Should we count from when you’re done with him, it would be pretty late when he’s done and he won’t have time for friends, or, if he takes his time for it, he’ll go to bed too late. The whole schedule would fall apart. So I decided we’d count your hour together to the study time. And I’m gonna sit in to get a grasp of what you consider needs to be emphasized and what Sam’s having a problem with.”</p>
<p>Kelvin leans back in his chair, still steepling his hands, elbows on his armrest. “With all due respect, Mr. Winchester, we value our students’ privacy. And the education is provided for students, not their relatives. After all, that’s what they’re paying for.”</p>
<p>Dean huffs. “With all due respect, Professor Marcus, you’re wrong. The students are paying for a diploma. A degree they can put on their resume, not for the information that’s freely available on the internet. Ain’t nobody gonna hire me if I put, ‘Have a brother in college,’ on my resume. Secondly, while I appreciate that you care about your students’ privacy, Sam has specifically asked me for help. Assistance I’m glad to be able to provide him. I ain’t putting pressure on him even though if his grades keep falling, I’m the one who’s gonna have to pay for his continued education if he loses his scholarship. Neither of us wants that to happen and that’s why I’m here.”</p>
<p>It’s mortifying, listening to this. But Dean and Kelvin aren’t paying him much mind.</p>
<p>“I understand that, Mr. Winchester. But during these tutoring sessions, it’s possible that Sam discloses things that he might not want you or someone else close to him to know. Therefore it’s best if you return after we’re done in here. Plus, relatives on campus may act as a distraction and disturbance to the students, and we strongly disapprove of familial presence. I appreciate your willingness to help your brother, but it’s better if you leave it to us professionals.”</p>
<p>Sam holds his breath in the silence that follows. Dean’s pursing his lips in thought, gaze locked with Kelvin’s. Sam withholds the urge to dry his cold, sweaty hands on his thighs. He’s dizzy.</p>
<p>Dean looks down and nods slowly to himself. He looks up to meet Kelvin’s gaze again with a closelipped smile. “Very well. I thought this was a study session, not therapy, but okay.” He gets up and half-turns towards the door, and gestures between Sam and Kelvin. “You go ahead and do your thing. I’ll nip down to the administration and have Stella book me in with the Dean, Miss Moseley.” He starts walking towards the door.</p>
<p>Kelvin abruptly stands up. “Why would you get the Dean involved?”</p>
<p>Dean turns around with his hand on the door handle. “Because Sam’s mental health is a serious matter to me. Sam told me he’s been meeting you after class every week since school started. I’m sure this is completely normal and routine to do when a student is failing. But since his output has continued to go down this method of yours might not be ideal for Sam, personally. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not questioning your competence as a teacher, Professor Marcus. But you implied Sam and you are talking about sensitive subjects he might not want me to hear, rather than you teaching him how to reiterate the literary analyses and conclusions of a bunch of elitist, exclusionary, dead, white men, which is what college-level lit basically is. Since that’s the case, Dean Moseley needs to know the standard procedures aren’t working, and that she needs to rethink how to deal with students with failing mental health, because teachers shouldn’t waste valuable time acting like therapists.”</p>
<p>“We have counselors on campus to deal with mental health problems, Mr. Winchester,” Kelvin says. He seems calm but Sam can see the strain around his eyes. Sam’s own heart thumps wildly in his chest.</p>
<p>“Great,” Dean chirps. “Then I’m sure Dean Moseley will tell me all about it.” He starts pressing down the door handle.</p>
<p>“Wait!” Kelvin reaches out a hand over his desk in a stopping gesture. Dean lets go of the door and turns around to face them with an open expression. Kelvin smiles. “Maybe you are right. Naturally, my concern is first and foremost on Sam’s academic success. And perhaps it will be more stimulating and rewarding to him to spend time studying with you. How about we take a four-week break from these sessions and then meet up again for an evaluation?”</p>
<p>Dean grins widely. “Sounds awesome, Professor Marcus.”</p><hr/>
<p>They’re quiet all the way out of the building. Sam’s legs feel like jelly. He’s so relieved he’s near tears and terrified of what consequences it will have on his grades. What if Kelvin gives him bad grades because of this?</p>
<p>“What an asshole!” Dean exclaims when they’re walking on the gravel walkway over the grass yard.</p>
<p>“What? Why?”</p>
<p>“<em>Why?</em> Are you serious? That guy put out bad vibes from the moment I saw him. And in all my years taking care of you I have never, <em>ever</em> come across a teacher, school official, or a CPS-worker that fought me when it comes to what’s best for you. Man, that teacher of yours did <em>not</em> want the Dean involved,” Dean rants, eyes flashing angrily.</p>
<p>“CPS-workers? Since when have you talked to CPS-workers?”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers and gives him an amused look. “Dude. You don’t remember Maggie, in Utah? Ray, in North Carolina? Or Mrs Ramirez, in Ohio?”</p>
<p>“Mrs Ramirez… you mean Isabella?”</p>
<p>Dean snorts. “Yeah, no, I ain’t using her first name because I don’t have a deathwish. But, yeah. They were all from CPS, Sammy.”</p>
<p>“Really? I thought they were just nice neighbors.”</p>
<p>“Nah, man. Sometimes teachers could sniff out that something was wrong with us from a mile away and rung the bell, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. But whatever. Point is, adults always wanted what’s best for us and would jump at the chance to cooperate. That Marcus-dude wanted me thrown off the campus. Fuck him. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s fishy, and you should minimize your contact with him. Oh, by the way, I brought us two lunchboxes. Wanna go to the kitchen in your dorm to eat? We’ll study afterward.”</p>
<p>“Uhm. Yeah, of course.”</p>
<p>“Awesome. I parked my car over there.”</p>
<p>They go get the lunchboxes out of Dean’s car and go to eat. Dean flirts playfully with all the students entering the common area. He already knows their names and the banter implies that they’ve been introduced already. Apparently, Dean’s Alexa prank has something to do with that.</p>
<p>They study, and it <em>is</em> easier to concentrate with Dean. Dean’s frantically skimming through Sam’s textbooks while Sam’s busy, trying to catch up best as he can. It’s actually fun. Sam’s gotten more done in two days than he has in a full week before. Once two hours have passed, Dean declares it’s time to stop.</p>
<p>“But, Dean, I’m so close to finishing this paper. I only need, like, one more hour,” Sam protests.</p>
<p>“Not happening. You can work on that tomorrow between classes or after school. Now we’re clocking out and doing something fun. Relax that big brain of yours and let things sink in. You can write your own stories, hang with friends, watch a movie, or whatever. By 10:30 it’s lights out.”</p>
<p>Sam smiles. Part of him wants to rebel, and tell Dean he’s old enough to decide his own bedtime, but he decides against it. That’ll just make Dean stick around even longer to make sure he goes to bed on time.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So. What Steve tells Sam, about it not being a competition, it's so damn important. So in my late teens/early twenties, I was sliding into major depression. My best friends, a pair of twins that partially inspired this story, had to suffer neglect, physical, verbal, and sexual abuse at home. No, at this point they were in foster care already but that doesn't matter. My dad was fairly wealthy and I rarely had to lack for anything I wanted or needed (on a normal people level, not a rich people level). I remember taking the twins to the movies when we were 14 and it was the first time they'd been there. I myself went 2-4 times a week. And that's relevant because everything bad that ever happened to me I compared to what they had to endure. I invalidated my every strife and heartache because compared to them it was nothing. So one day they did an intervention, sort of. They sat me down at one of our favorite cafés and said we had to talk. </p>
<p>They explained to me that each person only has their own experiences to go by, and that if I feel sad, hurt, anxious, those were valid feelings. "Others have it worse" was a mantra of mine that was damaging to me, preventing me from acknowledging my own pain. They told me I shouldn't be grateful for what I got if what I have is something that makes me miserable no matter how good it looks from the outside. "You can't heal if you pretend you're not hurt." This moment was one of the keys to my own healing, even if it would take me years to internalize it.</p>
<p>I didn't even know what I was dealing with back then. I wasn't yet aware my dad was an alcoholic. I had never heard of gaslighting. I certainly wasn't aware of how often my dad gaslit me. All I knew was that I was struggling with a constant burden of guilt for things that weren't my fault, anxiety, and a sense of duty that was always just a tad bit too hard to uphold no matter how good I did.</p>
<p>The routine Dean provides Sam with can be good for depression, especially since he removes some of the pressure from Sam to manage it by himself. Getting out of bed every day, eating regularly, taking care of personal hygiene. All these things we might fail at when depressed. Another good thing Dean does is lowering the bar for what counts as success. If we look at Sam in the Brady chapter he's studying non-stop, far ahead of most. To him, the bar of success is much lower with only 2 hours of studying and simply "going to class" as the target instead of actually learning. We need to lower the bar to a place where we can't fail since failure is devastating to a depressed mind. At my lowest point I had "Do one thing" as my target and that one thing could be anything from making the bed to taking a shower. Simple chores that felt monumental. Still, I succeeded, many days got a little boost from it to handle more things without the pressure of having to.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. GABE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabe finally gets a chance to set his plan in motion. Dean consistently brings out the best sides in Nick and the not-so-good sides in Mike.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings for Steve using homophobic slurs. ^^'<br/>On that note, there are surprisingly few slurs for bisexuals. Maybe not surprisingly since we don't exist and all. -.-' But if you know of any, please tell me in the comments. :)</p><p>This chapter is long. ^^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>There’s a knock on Michael’s door.</p><p>Mike grimaces, uncomfortable about someone intruding on him without giving him time to mentally prepare. He throws his suit jacket on the bed, loosens his tie, and goes to open. He looks through the peeping hole first. The discomfort turns to jitters instead. He unlocks and opens the door.</p><p>“Dean! Hi! What a surprise. Come in. I just got home from work,” he smiles and steps aside to let the younger man in.</p><p>Dean comes inside and turns to him with his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed to a thin line when Mike shuts the door. “We’ve got to talk, Mike. Because that shit you pulled last weekend is fucking not okay.”</p><p>Unprepared for the hostility, Mike takes a step back. “Whu-whu-what are you tuh-tuh-talking about?”</p><p>“”Your jealous hissy fit. The hickey you left. It’s not fucking okay.”</p><p>“The hickey was an accident,” Mike lies.</p><p>Dean shakes his head. “The hell it was. You were marking property like a dog pissing. So let’s get this straight, okay? You and I, we’re not an item.” He gestures between them angrily. “I wasn’t cheating. I’ve been playing with open cards from the start, Mike. When I’m with you, I’m with you. I ain’t gonna go off for a quickie with someone else. But the same rule applies when I’m with someone else, okay?”</p><p>“You wanted it,” Mike accuses with a ball of ice in his belly.</p><p>“Of-fucking-course, I wanted it! Have you seen yourself?” Dean gestures angrily at him with both hands. “Here’s the deal, though. I don’t like drama and I don’t like hurting people unnecessarily. No matter how impersonal a hookup is, they will get hurt, or at the very least have their pride wounded, if they find new marks that they didn’t cause. You know what happens then? Fucking drama, Mike.”</p><p>“You didn’t have to make out with my brother to cover it up,” Mike grouses, averting his gaze with a sinking feeling.</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes. “Fuck sake. We didn’t make out. And you know what? He wouldn’t have had to touch me if you didn’t want us to creep. As it was, I asked him to cover up my blunder, which he did. And if Denise would’ve chosen to make a fuss about it, he woulda dived straight into that conflict because your brother loves drama. <em>You’re</em> the one demanding that we creep, so you better learn how to fucking creep, okay? I’d be perfectly happy to tell anyone we’re fucking. You know how much bullshit can be avoided if we’re open about it? But I’m not happy about you acting entitled. It can’t happen again. Is that understood?”</p><p>Mike turns his head away but Dean won’t allow him avoidance. He grabs Mike’s jaw and forces Mike to look him in the eyes. “Mike. Do you understand? You’re acting like a boyfriend. Stop. We’re not a thing. Get it?”</p><p>Mike nods reluctantly. He’s got a small lump in his throat, making it painful to swallow. “You act like a boyfriend too,” he accuses petulantly.</p><p>Dean throws his hands up in frustration then rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck sake. <em>Not</em> the same. I warned you about that before we even slept together. I’m not the hump and dump kinda guy, Mike. Even with one-night-stands. What’s the fucking point of having sex if I can’t get some human warmth out of it at the same time? I <em>told you</em> I’m affectionate. I <em>told you</em> not to misconstrue it. If you can’t handle that, we have to dial it back to just friends, okay?”</p><p>Every word is a stab wound in Mike’s tortured heart. “Is that whu-what you want?”</p><p>“No, it’s not. If it was, you wouldn’t have been able to persuade me to fool around in the bathroom while I had a girl waiting downstairs. Look. I like you. I like you a lot. But I reiterate, I can’t promise more than that, okay?”</p><p>“You’ve said that,” Mike says and smiles to hide the pain inside. He hooks his hand in Dean’s belt and pulls him close, resting his other hand on Dean’s hip. “I know. This is just casual.”</p><p>“Exactly. Can you handle that without throwing another jealousy fit?” Dean’s calming down, gaze and body language earnest instead of pissed off.</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“No more marking me up as property, okay? I know you said I need to earn your attention. And I get it. You’re hot, you’re talented and funny. You’ve got a nice job, a nice apartment, and a nice car. I’m just a bum with a pretty face. But you still need to show me some respect, okay? And don’t go throwing me under the bus for shit I don’t instigate.”</p><p>“It won’t happen again,” Mike promises, unsure if he can keep it. “And when did I say you have to earn my attention?”</p><p>“Through text. Back when you invited me to come to see you play.”</p><p>
  <em>Sam.</em>
</p><p>The text Sam sent when he was flirting with Dean. Eons and eons ago.</p><p>“Well, you’ve earned it,” Mike says and leans in to kiss Dean’s jawline, desperate to end this horrible conversation.</p><p>Dean grips his shoulders firmly as if he intends to push away, but the push never comes. “Mike. Come on. I’m trying to have an argument here.”</p><p>“Mhm. How’s that going for you?” Mike jokes and finds the spot just below Dean’s ear where he’s proven to be sensitive.</p><p>“<em>Oh fuck.</em>” Dean staggers backward into the wall and lets out a pained laugh. “Jesus, Mike. We’re supposed to be doing the adult thing where we talk things out.”</p><p>“Is that what you want?” Mike asks and sucks Dean’s ear lobe into his mouth.</p><p>“No. It’s not. But I’m still mad at you, and I’m hungry, and tired from job hunting all day,” Dean answers, dropping one hand to Mike’s hip to rest it there loosely.</p><p>“We can order pizza and you can stay the night,” Mike suggests, kissing down Dean’s throat, stress diminishing when Dean’s body relaxes.</p><p>Dean tips his head back to thump against the wall with a defeated sigh. “Or… you can let me cook for you, like we talked about?”</p><p>“Sure. But then we’ll have to go shopping. Don’t have much at home.”</p><p>Dean pushes him away and kicks off his shoes. “Let me be the judge of that,” he says with a bright smile Mike’s pretty sure is fake. It doesn’t <em>look</em> like a fake smile, but Dean’s mood-switch makes it seem like it is. Dean heads into the kitchen with Mike trailing after him. “I’m gonna go through your kitchen now, okay?” Dean says, throwing a look over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Make yourself at home.”</p><p>Mike wraps his arms around Dean, plastering himself against Dean’s back while Dean opens cupboards, fridge, and freezer. Dean chuckles. “Damn. I thought I was the needy one,” he jokes and twists around to hold Mike face to face. Mike smiles to hide his inward cringe at being called ‘needy’. It’s true. He’s needy. Clingy. Desperate. Pathetic. “Alright. There’s enough to make a decent dinner. But I’d like to get drunk tonight if you don’t mind. How about you go buy some beer or wine or whatever, and I’ll get started cooking?”</p><p>It’s hard to tear himself away and leave the apartment. Once he’s alone his mind goes into overdrive. Dean’s right. He’s jealous. He had left that hickey on purpose. It’s out of character for him. The hurt he feels when someone else touches and kisses Dean is a tale as old as time. But the sense of self-justified anger he vocally denies, is there, and it’s new. He’s not sure where it’s coming from. He didn’t feel like this about Bela and Charlie. Maybe because they were unattainable? He’s never been in this situation with someone he’s fallen this hard for. Either you get to be with someone or you don’t. Except, with Dean, it’s both.</p><p>Mike hates it. He simply can’t do casual when he has strong feelings, but if he tells Dean, they’ll have to break off the physical intimacy and that’s simply not an option. He’ll have to keep lying and pretend he’s content with what they have.</p><p>He comes back to his stereo blasting ‘Whistle’ by Flo Rida, and the savory scent of food. Dean’s dancing while he cooks and smiles widely with a chirpy, “Hey, Babe,” as if nothing’s wrong. Mike gets a kiss, is asked how his workday was, and everything is fine. Dean’s as handsy and affectionate as he always is when they’re alone. Mike’s not the one who can’t do casual - <em>Dean</em> is. Dean ‘performs’ the whole boyfriend-schtick he claims not to want and it tears at Mike.</p><p>“So, you said you were out looking for jobs?” Mike asks while they’re eating.</p><p>“Mhm. Yeah. The moving gig isn’t paying the bills and since I can work such limited hours now that I’m hounding Sam to do his damn homework and not skip class, I needed a night gig. I got a tryout gig tomorrow. If I do well, I’ll have work Friday and Saturday nights to start with.”</p><p>“What kind of job?”</p><p>“It’s at a bar.”</p><p>“I didn’t know you had to try out to become a bartender,” Mike remarks.</p><p>“Um. Yeah, no, it’s, it’s,” Dean puts down his fork to rub his neck. He averts his gaze, cheeks tinting pink. He’s adorably flustered. “It’s as a karaoke host.”</p><p>“Really?” Mike says, utterly delighted. “What bar?”</p><p>“Ooh no. No no no. Mikey, babe, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna let you come watch me. I ain’t bad, but I’m so far below your skill level, and― You know, it doesn’t matter. They want me because of my engaging personality and pretty face. All I need to do is be mediocre at best and make people order more drinks.”</p><p>Mike chuckles. “No. They don’t hire mediocre singers as karaoke hosts, Dean. They definitely don’t ask someone to come in for a tryout if they haven’t heard them sing already. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”</p><p>“Whatever, man. Has Sam ever mentioned his Professor Kelvin Marcus to you?” Dean deflects.</p><p>“He has. In passing. How so?”</p><p>“Because this Tuesday I went along with Sam to a meeting with Marcus. So apparently, Sam’s been meeting with him after class twice a week since the semester started. Nothing too weird about it, right? It happens that teachers take a special interest in students and put in more effort than duty dictates. I would’ve crashed and burned one year if my math teacher hadn’t taken pity on me and decided that helping me one on one was more important than his own lunch hour. He spent every school day for six weeks tutoring me until I caught up and actually understood the nonsense we were studying. Hell, he turned my most hated subject into something fun. So it does happen, right?”</p><p>“Mhm?” Mike agrees carefully.</p><p>“I don’t know if it’s different in college or whatever, but there are rules about how a teacher may interact with a student, okay? Like, the door isn’t supposed to be closed if the teacher and student are alone. Crap like that. But like I said, I don’t know if it’s different in college. It doesn’t matter. The door to Marcus’ office had no window and Sam closed it as if that’s his regular routine. And this Marcus guy? He gave me bad vibes straight off the bat. But,” Dean holds up a finger to accentuate his point. “I <em>can</em> be wrong about vibes. Hell, Nick gives off hella bad vibes yet he keeps subverting my expectations.”</p><p>Mike huffs. “Dean. He attacked you the first thing he did when you moved in.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, his camera <em>was</em> stolen, and I <em>am</em> a thief. I just don’t bite the hand that feeds me. So while he was wrong he wasn’t wrong. It’s irrelevant. Point is, I tried to keep an open mind. I explained to Marcus why I was there; to help Sam overcome his depression and catch up academically. And this dude? He tried to kick me out, claiming that education should be left to the professionals, that I couldn’t listen to him tutor Sam because I hadn’t paid for an education, and some bullshit about how he needed to protect Sam’s privacy since Sam might disclose something he didn’t want me to know. I mean, what the actual fuck, right?”</p><p>Mike shakes his head in faux-disbelief. Nothing of this surprises him.</p><p>“Right. So I pretended that I didn’t understand that these meetings are outside of the norm, and told him to have his session and I’d go book a meeting with the Dean in the meantime. Then all of a sudden he all but threw Sam out to study with me instead.”</p><p>“You would’ve gone to the Dean?”</p><p>“Hells yeah. At that point, I’d already talked them into giving me a key card to Sam’s dorm. It works on all the academic buildings too. If Sam can get in, so can I.”</p><p>“Woah. Congratulations. But that’s honestly a little frightening,” Mike says and means it.</p><p>Dean grins. “Yeah. When it comes to Sam, my middle name is Karen. Although, I hide it under a himbo-veneer.” He winks. “Anyway, I’ve already made myself popular with the reception staff. I’m sure I can charm a Dean too. What worries me is why Marcus acts so fishy. Is it drugs? Is he using Sam to sell test answers? I honestly can’t figure it out.”</p><p>“I, um… I don’t know for sure, but I suspect he and Sam are having an affair,” Mike confesses.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“I think they’re sleeping together.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Sam confessed to having a married lover that he isn’t in love with but can’t break up with. He hasn’t told me why, only said that he can’t. Then Gabe stopped by at Sam’s motel before the semester had started and Kelvin was there, having brought all the books Sam would be needing. He’s also called a few times over the summer and Sam’s tried to hide it from me, but urgently had to leave afterward.”</p><p>“Sonnova―!” Dean starts rising from his chair but Mike reaches out and grabs him by the wrist to stop him.</p><p>“If we expose him, Sam will get in trouble. Worst case scenario, his fake identity won’t hold up for scrutiny, he’ll be kicked out and struck from their records and have to pay back the scholarship. He might be sent to jail for fraud,” Mike says. Dean sinks back onto his chair with a thud. “It’s also a matter that could attract media attention, guaranteeing to expose his whereabouts to your dad. Not to mention he might be accused of sleeping himself to good grades. He isn’t in the closet but if this comes out, <em>everyone</em> will know he―”</p><p>“Yeah. I get it. Fuck.”</p><p>“Gabe’s got a plan to fix it, but I don’t know what it is, since his plans tend to be of the ‘the less you know’-variety.”</p><p>“Alright. I’ll talk to him about it. Thanks for telling me.”</p>
<hr/><p>The house quieted down a mere 30 minutes ago. Nick lies awake, bothered by what happened tonight.</p><p>The day had started splendidly by Dean coming home at noon and Luci laying into him, worry morphed into anger, catalyzed by relief.</p><p>
  <em>"Where the fuck have you been? Why didn't you call? Do you realize how worried I've been? Something could've happened to you!"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh, yes. Splendid work there, Nick. Completely normal behavior.</em>
</p><p>Dean had met anger for anger the first minute but quickly became guilty and remorseful. <em>"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize it was one of the rules. It'll never happen again."</em> Naturally, that led to an hour of intense cleaning accompanied by the whistling of Twisted Nerve from Kill Bill.</p><p>Nick <em>should</em> have apologized. But why bother, when you instead can act extra friendly and fake smiles at each other like some fucking tools? And then go to the music room to have their PG-rated version of makeup sex by jamming together with an electric guitar each.</p><p>Funny, that.</p><p>Nick <em>had</em> apologized, just not to Dean. He'd seen Steve give him careful looks, and to <em>him</em> Nick said he was sorry, admitted that he'd overreacted and was in the wrong. Steve shouldn’t have to move from one abusive household to another like Nick had done before he ended up at Chuck’s.</p><p>Mike and Gabe came over to jam around the same time that Dean declared he had to go to work. Then Ennis and Sam came by unannounced, and all of them joined the band in the music room to Nick’s absolute delight. It amused Nick to no end how Ennis reacted to Steve’s coming out. He’s gotten himself a pin of the ally-flag and asks Steve a lot of fashion questions as if coming out as gay suddenly made him an expert.</p><p>
  <em>”Bro. Why don’t you ask them? They take it up the ass too.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, but according to the internet, bisexuals are disasters.”</em>
</p><p>They had to take a five-minute break after that because they were laughing so hard. Ennis isn't wrong when he assumed that every bisexual in the room are disasters. But it has less to do with their sexuality, and more to do with the trauma, neglect, and abuse they've suffered.</p><p>Sam got a phone call and had to leave. Gabe drove him and neither of them came back. Meanwhile, Mike and Nick roped in Steve to play drums and Ennis to play bass. After a quick lesson, they had fun. Steve's a natural-born drummer who sadly doesn't enjoy playing beyond the camaraderie. Ennis was enthusiastic, but, well. It didn't come naturally for him.</p><p>Sam leaving in a haste without saying why, bothers Nick. He lies awake thinking about it.</p><p>He hears a crash from the kitchen and sits up, straining his ears. Hearing nothing further, he rolls out of bed with a dissatisfied grunt and goes to open the bedroom door to listen. Downstairs Dean’s whistling softly.</p><p>Nick gets the satisfied sensation of a herding dog joining an errant lamb to its herd.</p><p>He puts on a pair of sweatpants and a ratty tee and heads downstairs. He stops in the doorway and leans his shoulder against the jamb, watching Dean. There’s no sign of whatever it was that crashed, but Dean’s taking out ingredients for cooking, putting them on the counter. “Are you high?” Nick asks with trepidation.</p><p>Dean stops and looks up, turning to Nick with confusion. “No. What the hell gave you that idea?”</p><p>“It’s four o’clock in the morning and you’re raiding the fridge.”</p><p>Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh. Yeah, no. I saw two additional pairs of shoes in the hallway, which means we’re five people who need lunch tomorrow, but I’d like to sleep in so I figured I’d prepare it now.”</p><p>Dean looks tired, with dark rings under his eyes, and Nick’s concerned. Cooking is one thing―he knows Dean likes it―but this is compulsive, like OCDing over the exact position of kitchen towels and spice jars. Nick leaves his lean against the jamb and walks up to Dean. “No. We’re all grownups and can make our own food, Dean. I’ve lived alone for years. I can cook. I enjoy boiled eggs and can boil those to perfection.”</p><p>Dean sniggers.</p><p>“Hey, don’t laugh. Boiling eggs is harder than you’d think.”</p><p>Dean gives him an amused look and turns to continue prepping. Nick traps him against the counter, boxing him in. “No. Stop. I’m not letting you cook for our sorry, hungover asses.”</p><p>“But―”</p><p>“No. Stop.” Nick puts his chin on Dean’s shoulder, leaning against his back. If there was only some way to magic away Dean’s tiredness. Dean’s rushing headlong into a burnout and he doesn’t even know it. “I appreciate you.”</p><p>“The fuck?” Dean asks in bemusement.</p><p>“I appreciate you, Dean. I’m happy that you moved in with me.”</p><p>“What is this? Some kind of positive reinforcement exercise?” Dean asks skeptically and twists around to face Nick.</p><p>It’s exactly what it is. Nick figures Dean needs it. Especially after Nick threw one of his fits earlier. “No,” Nick says and lifts a hand to pet Dean over the scalp. “But I haven’t told you, so I’m doing it now. I appreciate you. You’ve made my life better. If it was just the two of us, I’d be happy to be your sugar daddy indefinitely without getting any of the sugar. You’re a good boy.”</p><p>Dean sniggers and averts his gaze, cheeks tinting pink. “I haven’t been a good boy a day in my life.”</p><p>Nick grabs Dean’s face, cupping his cheeks to force him to look at Nick. “Who told you that? Your dad? He wouldn’t know ‘good boy’ if you so punched him in the face.”</p><p>Dean sniggers and looks down. His cheeks are hot in Nick’s palms. “Wow. You’re drunk. I don’t think you know what the criteria for what a good boy is.”</p><p>“I’m indeed drunk,” Nick agrees with a dumb smile. “And you’re not going to cook right now. In fact, I think…” He lets go of Dean’s face, crouches down, wraps his arms around Dean’s thighs in a firm grip, then lifts.</p><p>Dean yelps, tipping over Nick’s shoulder, bracing on Nick’s lower back. “Nick, what the hell?” he laughs after getting over the initial shock.</p><p>Nick turns around and walks towards the door. “Watch your head,” he warns as they near the doorway. Despite the giggling―making Nick smile―Dean holds still, helping to keep his weight balanced.</p><p>“Nick, we need to put the food back or it might spoil,” Dean giggles.</p><p>“If it spoils, we’ll buy new food,” Nick decides and heads for the stairs. He hears Dean mutter, ‘Oh shit,’ and stop giggling. Nick lets go of Dean’s thighs with one arm so he can hold the banister while taking the stairs.</p><p>Halfway up the stairs, Dean starts giggling again. “This was <em>not</em> how I imagined dying.”</p><p>“Oh, shush. I’m not gonna drop you, you ass. I’m not <em>that</em> drunk.” Nick frowns thoughtfully. “You imagine dying often, then?”</p><p>“What?” Dean sniggers. “No. I mean, the usual amount.”</p><p>“Funny. I always, without fail, imagine surviving,” Nick muses. “It’s other people I imagine dying. Painfully.”</p><p>Dean laughs. “Yeah, no surprise there, buddy.”</p><p>Nick reaches the top floor and turns towards Dean’s room. He opens the door, goes inside, and heaves Dean over his shoulder onto the bed. Dean makes an undignified ‘<em>Eeep</em>’ and laughs when he lands safely. Nick drops onto the bed beside him and lies on his back, lacing his fingers over his belly. “So. Are you finally gonna tell me who gave you that hickey?” he asks for the millionth time. He was happy to cover up Dean’s little misstep last Saturday, but as far as he knows, Dean isn’t physical with any of the partygoers and Nick’s a curious little bitch.</p><p>“<em>No</em>. Stop asking. I’ve already told you they want to creep,” Dean sniggers.</p><p>“Okay. So, Mikey ratted you out.”</p><p>Dean goes still. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Karaoke host? When you said you had to work, I thought you meant trucking.”</p><p>“Oh. That. Yeah,” Dean flusters and shifts to lie on his back, mimicking Nick’s position.</p><p>“Well? How did it go?” Nick prompts.</p><p>A proud, excited grin creeps over Dean’s face. “I got the job. I’ll be working Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.”</p><p>“Congrats. You realize we’re coming to watch you, right?”</p><p>“Hah! Forget it. I’m not telling you where I work.”</p><p>Nick sniggers and tips onto his side, facing Dean. He fakes a pitying expression. “Oh, honey. Sweetheart. Babe. You think not telling me something is going to stop me from finding out? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”</p><p>Dean huffs in amusement. “But I’m not nearly as good as you.”</p><p>“Unless you’re working at one of the shittiest shitholes to ever have shitholed, they wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t. So I’m convinced you’re lying and simply don’t want to steal our thunder like the manipulative little ass you are.”</p><p>Dean sniggers but doesn’t answer, instead, he switches the subject. “Whatever. It means I’ll have a steady income and can start paying rent.”</p><p>Nick scrunches up his nose. “About that. I said you could live here rent-free, but I will have to renege on that now that we’re providing for three people and a horde of kids frequently invading us.”</p><p>“I just told you. That’s not a problem. Just name your price.”</p><p>Nick hums. “I’ve already talked to Steve. I said that you’ve got two months to find your footing so you can buy the essentials you need. I had a chat with my foreman too. We have a use for strong, young men even without degrees. In two weeks we’ve been contracted to build a new house. It won’t be the site I’m at, but I explained Steve’s situation and my foreman agreed to give him a chance as an apprentice. It’s up to Steve to <em>keep</em> the job, and the pay at that level isn’t great. But we only need enough to cover the higher cost of living, like food and toiletries and so on, so it’ll be enough and still leave him with some pocket money. I would’ve asked for you too but, with my work hours, you’d have to stop hounding Sam, and Sam’s more important.”</p><p>“That’s awesome, man, thanks for helping him out. He’s been freaking out about not having previous work experience. He thought nobody would hire him. And I don’t need two months. Just tell me how much you want me to pay.”</p><p>Nick tssks. “You <em>do</em> need two months. I bought you a computer desk. It’s meant to have a computer on it and those cost money,” he says and gestures at the desk opposite the bed.</p><p>Dean looks at the desk and for a moment he almost looks sad. “Yeah… Everyone tells me I should get a laptop instead. It’s more practical…”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck sake.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No wonder he looks sad.</em>
</p><p>“Now that’s a load of crap. More practical for who? So they can borrow it? No, no, no. You need a stationary computer. That desk was built specifically for a real computer. I was thinking, maybe one of those with a glowing chassis and a matching keyboard with rainbow-colored light under the keys? To match all the crap you’ve got going over here,” Nick says and gestures at the string lights glowing overhead. Dean’s expression shifts like a flower opening up to sunlight while Nick talks.</p><p>“Yeah? That’s what I was thinking. I’ve wanted one of those since I first saw them.”</p><p>“Then that’s what you’ll get. And a big-ass screen so you can lie in bed and watch Netflix. Maybe two screens. So you can do that split-screen thing computer nerds do.”</p><p>“Hells yeah. Not right away. I’ve never owned a computer so I’m pretty shit at them. But a big screen, and a good webcam.” Dean’s eyes light up with an excited glow.</p><p>Nick can read between the lines. This is what was going through Dean’s mind when he had his freakout in IKEA. The idea of having a stationary computer, because he could, and the fear of all this being an illusion so he’d have to give up on the dream of something <em>stationary</em>. “Webcam, huh? Planning to play some late-night Omegle roulette?” Nick teases.</p><p>“What’s Omegle?”</p><p>“I have no idea,” Nick lies with a not so innocent smirk.</p><p>Dean sniggers and rolls towards him. “Guess it’s the first thing I’m gonna find out when I get my computer.”</p><p>Nick sniggers. “Tell me how it went. Oh, and have you considered getting those strips of led lights that you put under the cornice, that you can change the color on with a remote?”</p><p>“Noo. That’s a great idea,” Dean enthuses.</p><p>“It’s an awful idea. Your room will look like the rainbow womb of a unicorn,” Nick teases with a grin. “I can get some after work on Monday and we’ll install them together when you get home.”</p><p>They lie talking for a long time, mostly about Dean’s room, but also other lighthearted subjects, until both of them have their eyes closed and answer each other with slurred drowsiness. Nick’s mission, to stop Dean from compulsive cooking, is accomplished.</p><p>He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But a knock on the door wakes him up. He lies spooning Dean, holding him to his chest, and Dean still has his clothes on. The knock comes again and Dean stirs to life with a groan. “Wht time mizzit?” he mumbles.</p><p>“No. Five more minutes,” Nick protests and pulls Dean closer to his chest. Dean goes lax and mumbles his agreement.</p><p>It knocks again, but this time, the door opens. “Dean? Are you awake? I was just wonderi― Oh.”</p><p>It’s Mikey. He’d stayed the night in a guest room and now his face darkens when he sees Nick. Nick can feel his horns growing.</p><p>“Mike. I can explain,” Dean says and starts pushing himself up on his elbows.</p><p>“Yes,” Nick jumps at the chance to jab at his brother. “You see, we were having wild and uninhibited sex and then fell asleep exhausted by all the orgasms we were hav―<em>Ouff</em>,” Nick grunts grom the elbow Dean jabs into his belly, then sniggers.</p><p>“Uh-huh. I know that’s a lie. I would’ve heard it if you did,” Mike says dryly and crosses both arms and legs, leaning against the doorpost.</p><p>“Hey, I can be quiet,” Nick says with a sly smirk.</p><p>“Yes, but can Dean?” Mike counters.</p><p>“Only if you keep missing the prostate like Nick did,” Dean jokes.</p><p>Nick scoffs in mock offense. “I resent that.”</p><p>“We lay talking and accidentally fell asleep,” Dean explains, ignoring Nick, and spoiling Nick’s fun with honesty.</p><p>“This numbnut came home and tried to cook our lunch so he could sleep in. I had to stop him. Why are you still standing over there? Come on over,” Nick pats the bed beside Dean.</p><p>Dean pats the bed invitingly where Nick just patted, and Mike smiles, leaving his sour perch by the door. To him, it might seem like Nick decided to be nice, while in reality he just doesn’t want to get up yet.</p>
<hr/><p>Gabe looks through the photos he’d taken to choose which ones he’s going to print. For weeks, he’d failed to take any pics that were damning enough, just because Sam and Kelvin hid away in Kelvin’s office. But since Dean decided to hound Sam in school, that finally changed. Kelvin couldn’t stay away from Sam, and instead called him on the weekend, inviting him to his beach cabin.</p><p>Nick might think he’s the better stalker, but he’s an idiot. (Not to mention that he didn’t notice gabe took his camera again.) Hiding isn’t really Nick’s thing. He’s loud and obnoxious and intimidating. To get a restraining order the person you stalk actually has to realize they’re being stalked.</p><p>Granted, Gabe had gotten good at hiding because he was trying to <em>avoid</em> people while keeping an eye on them. But it wasn’t much of a stretch to reverse the purpose.</p><p>If the pictures he’d taken both on the cabin porch and through the windows had been of complete strangers, he’d feel rather proud of himself right now. Instead, he’s nauseous. While he was playing paparazzi he’d been too focused on getting good pictures where both parties could be easily identified to fully take in what he was witnessing―a teacher fucking a 17-year-old student. But now he’s got no such distraction. It wouldn’t even matter if Sam was older. He’s seeing a man in a position of power take advantage of someone who can’t say no.</p><p>Gabe’s respect for Nick skyrockets. Gabe wouldn’t consider it a great mistake if Nick and Sam started dating. Both of them are in love and Gabe thinks they could work it out. Oh, he has opinions about the age difference, by all means, but since Nick's in it for the long run, they could work through their baggage together. It's not ideal, but it's okay. Nick's got pure intentions and is really trying to do the right thing.</p><p>Yet Nick refuses to give in. He wants Sam to heal first. Gabe couldn't be prouder if he tried. He wonders if Nick understands how much growth he's shown since he met the Winchesters?</p><p>Gabe takes his phone and calls Dean. It takes 3 signals before Dean answers.</p><p>"Hey, Deano! I need your help, buddy. Come pick me up."</p><p>"Heya, Gabby. Um. Is it a crisis? I’m covered in dirt and I need to meet up with Sam in an hour to help him study."</p><p>"Can Steve do it? I need you and your gun. We’re going to blackmail Kelvin into breaking up with Sam without it affecting Sam’s grades."</p><p>"I’m on my way. You at home? Hold on,” Dean muffles the sound of the speaker with his hand and yells, “<em>STEVE!</em>” Gabe can hear Steve’s distant, “<em>What?!</em>” yelled back. Dean yells, “<em>I need you to temp for me! Go pick up Sam, make sure he eats, then study with him for two hours. I need to help Gabe.</em>” Gabe doesn’t hear the answer, but the sound gets un-muffled and Dean says, “Can I shower at your place? Steve needs to shower too. You can give me the deets of the mission while I’m in the shower.”</p><p>“Sure. As long as you bring your gun.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Okay, babe. Talk to me,” Dean says while he’s lathering up.</p><p>Gabe sniggers, closes the shower curtain to hide Dean from sight, and sits down on the toilet lid. It never ceases to amaze him how unbothered Dean is by being nude with others. Gabe’s beginning to suspect that Dean loves to be seen. But Gabe’s bathroom is as tiny as it gets and he’s not bi enough to appreciate Dean’s naked butt up close and personal.</p><p>“Okay. The most important thing is not to end up in jail. That’s our top priority. I asked you to bring your gun because you managed to show restraint with it when you and Nick had a go at each other, but if you think you’ll be too pissed off to control yourself―”</p><p>“Never. Okay? Do I want to blow the guy’s brains out? Obviously. But California still has the death penalty and I can’t fucking help Sam if I get locked up for life, so…”</p><p>“Okay, good. So here’s the thing. Since we found out who Sam’s married lover was, I’ve been trying to snap some damning photos of him―”</p><p>“That why you took Nick’s camera?”</p><p>“Yup. But Kelvin hasn’t been out in public with Sam since the semester started. I got a couple of pics of his affair with another teacher. Technically, we could use those pics for blackmail. But it might backlash. He might consider it safe to fall back on Sam as his lover, so we don’t want to cause a rift between his wife and him while Sam’s under his thumb. The school doesn’t forbid romances between employees so the pics of Kelvin and Majorie wouldn’t be a threat to his job,” Gabe explains. “But because you prevented Kelvin from fucking Sam during work hours, Kelvin took Sam away for a short weekend trip, and, <em>bingo</em>.”</p><p>“You captured them on camera?”</p><p>“In very compromising and stomach-turning positions.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck.</em> Like, it’s a good thing, but still, fuck.”</p><p>“Mhm. So today after his last class Kelvin has to go to see his daughter perform in a school play. We’ll intercept him in the parking lot. You’ll stand by the car some distance away, gun visible on you without seeming overly threatening. I’ll deliver the photos and the ultimatum; break up with Sam without telling him why or put the blame on him, and not let this affect Sam’s grades.”</p><p>“Remind me again why we can’t just hand over the photos to the Dean?”</p><p>“Because Sam might get in trouble if we do.”</p><p>“Right. Fuck, I already knew that. It doesn’t seem right that he’d get away with it.”</p><p>“It isn’t. But we need to focus on saving our own instead of revenge.” Gabe rubs a hand tiredly over his face. “We could still ruin his marriage without taking the blame. All we need to do is lure his wife to one of the places he goes to with Majorie. They’re darn big on making out in public. But…”</p><p>“But?” Dean shuts the water off and pulls the shower curtain aside to grab the towel Gabe had brought in for him.</p><p>“But I’m torn. Kelvin is a very good father and a smooth creeper. I’ve been spying on Kelvin since we found out he and Sam were fucking and he and his wife have a great relationship. They’re great role models for how to communicate, argue, compromise, and show love. I saw the daughter throw a fit about something Kelvin said and he went to his knees and talked calmly to her, validating her anger, recognizing he’d done wrong, and confirmed for her that he still loves her and will be there for her even when she’s mad at him.”</p><p>“Yeah, so?” Dean asks and steps out of the bathroom to have more space to towel off.</p><p>“So if we destroy his marriage we’ll destroy her life too. And she’s on route to growing up healthy and happy. She has the childhood I wish I could’ve had and I don’t want to punish her for her dad’s messes.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, I’m calling bullshit. The dude set off Kill Bill sirens at hello. His daughter isn’t en route to growing up knowing how to be in healthy relationships. She’s en route to date shitheads like her dad. People ain’t dumb, Gabe.” Dean drops the towel on the floor and walks out of view to get dressed. “When you repeatedly lie to them, they feel it. You’re telling me he’s upholding not one, but <em>two</em> affairs. That’s a lot of lying, okay? If he really is that good at upholding the illusion of an equal relationship it means he’s constantly undermining his wife and daughter’s instincts. And what? Just because people aren’t shitheads to everyone around them they shouldn’t face consequences for their actions? Bull shit. Seriously, we ain’t talking about one drunken slip-up here.”</p><p>Gabe sighs and looks at the wet porcelain tiles in the shower. He’ll have to talk to his therapist about this. Kelvin’s daughter is sprightly and adorable and confident. He hates the thought of causing her misery.</p><p>Dean pops his head back into the bathroom. “We won’t ruin his marriage. You get that, right? He decided to fuck around. He decided to put his job and marriage at risk. If he really was a good role model he wouldn’t. We are part of the consequences, not the fucking instigators. He’s blackmailing a fucking minor for sex. I can agree not to take a bat to his head but that bitch is going down.”</p><p>“Let’s focus on getting Sam out of his clutches before we think of revenge.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright. Can I see the pictures you’re using?”</p><p>“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”</p><p>“It’s an awful idea but I want to see them anyway.”</p><p>“Okay.” Gabe gets up and goes to fetch the envelope with the prints while Dean finishes dressing, hangs up the towel to dry, and cleans up the bathroom.</p><p>Gabe hands Dean the photos. The first one is of Kelvin’s house. The second of Kelvin’s daughter in the school playground. The third one of his wife coming out of her office. Then the nasty pictures start. Dean removes the pics of Kelvin and Majorie. “Nope. Don’t use these. We don’t want him knowing we know about her. And―” Dean falls quiet, lips compressing to a thin line when he sees the next pic. It’s Sam and Kelvin on the porch of Kelvin’s beach cottage. The two following ones are taken through the cottage windows. Dean’s jaws tick. His lips twitch downward. He looks away blinking and hands the photos back. “Yep. Those ought to do it.”</p><p>Gabe puts the photos back into the envelope while Dean presses a hand to his mouth, trying to regain composure.</p><p>Dean doesn’t say much until they’re in his car. “Hey, so… can I ask you something? Is Nick for real?” he asks, changing topic.</p><p>“In what way?” Gabe asks.</p><p>“He’s bought me furniture and told me I can stay with him indefinitely. I just… Does he really mean that? Or is he gonna kick me out when I inevitably fuck up?”</p><p>“Nick has many flaws. One of them is a self-entitled attachment issue.”</p><p>Dean frowns. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“It <em>means</em>, you’ve moved into Hotel California,” Gabe says, then sings, “~<em>You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave...</em>~”</p><p>Dean laughs and Gabe sniggers at the happiness that appears to cause. That’s not the usual reaction from people who’d been living with Nick for as long as Dean has by now. It usually took Nick’s girlfriends about two weeks of spending every night at his place to run for the hills.</p><p>Dean turns his head to look at Gabe briefly. “Yeah? You promise?” he asks, looking and sounding startlingly hopeful.</p><p>It’s Gabe’s turn to laugh. “If there’s one promise I can give about Nick, it’s that he’ll never abandon you. Even if you’d beg him to. Or use a cattle prod. Restraining orders barely work. You’re stuck with him now,” Gabe answers jokingly.</p><p>“Awesome,” Dean deadpans with a grin.</p><p>Gabe loses it laughing.</p>
<hr/><p>“Samster! My man!” Steve startles Sam after class. It’s a pleasant surprise.</p><p>Dean’s made a bunch of rules that would drive Sam mad if last week hadn’t made him more productive and calmed some of his anxieties. For the weekend Dean dictated that Sam was allowed to study a maximum of two hours on Friday, and no more than 8 hours on Saturday and Sunday if he wanted to study at all. He isn’t allowed to study later than 8 PM any day, and if he studies for many hours on the weekend he must include a lunch-break. Before college, this was the norm. When they came from school they had a snack, did their homework, then fun stuff. Sam’s managed to be in bed by 10 every night last week and adhered to the lights-out rule, even if sleep was fickle. That’s not counting the weekend since Kelvin called and dragged him along to his beach house.</p><p>The weekend should count as pleasant. Kelvin had been his most romantic and loving, but Sam hadn’t been able to enjoy it. That antsy, crawling feeling that made him sick to his stomach hounded him with every touch. It hadn’t helped that Kelvin kept bringing up Dean, trying to make it sound as if Dean was overbearing and maliciously controlling.</p><p>“Steve. What are you doing here? Where’s Dean?” Sam asks with a big smile, making sure he doesn’t seem disappointed.</p><p>“I’m temping for him. I’ll be your tutor for the day,” Steve smirks. “Funniest shit I’ve ever heard. Me? I’m fucking dumb for fuck sake. Can’t help anyone study. Least of all myself,” he jokes.</p><p>“You’re not dumb. And all you have to do is snap your fingers in front of my face if I drift,” Sam reassures. “I’m glad you’re here. So get this. Kelvin took me to his cabin this weekend…” He starts telling Steve all that happened and the things Kelvin said about Dean. Steve grabs his hand and starts pulling Sam along. Sam doesn’t know where they’re going, they’re aiming for a part of the building Sam never goes to, but it doesn’t matter. He got through the school day and that’s a win.</p><p>“Okay, hold on, Sam. Yes, Dean’s a bossy piece of ass. He <em>can</em> be overbearing. But you’re saying that a damn college professor is trying to convince you that it’s bad that your brother helps you study and makes sure you go to class? And you get uncertain if he’s right? Fuck sake, <em>think</em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks. It sounded preposterous, but, you know…”</p><p>Steve grunts and stops outside of a lecture hall. “I know. Like I said, Dad’s an expert at these things. You can’t win a fucking argument with him. Now, have my back, will you? I’m about to fuck up.”</p><p>“Sure. But what are you going to do?”</p><p>Steve gives him an undecipherable look, then pushes the door open. The lecture hall is mostly empty, but a small group of people stands talking at the end of the room close to the dais. “Hey, faggot!” Steve calls out. It’s not until Steve calls for him Sam recognizes Ryan Jameson and understands this is where Steve used to go for his economy class.</p><p>Ryan turns around, spots Steve, and smirks with a sarcastic expression. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Edgelord McMuffin gracing us with his presence. And here I thought you’d finally given up and we were doomed to miss you forever.”</p><p>“Nah,” Steve answers, strolling nonchalantly closer to the group, tugging Sam along. Steve’s hand is warm and sweaty in Sam’s like it wasn’t a minute ago. Steve’s nervous. “My Dad won’t pay for the education of a perv. Had to drop out. So, you wanna go out or not?”</p><p>Ryan frowns in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘go out’?”</p><p>Steve and Sam stop seven feet away. Steve’s expression is contemptuous and cocky. He squeezes Sam’s hand. Sam rubs his thumb back and forth over Steve’s hand to comfort him. This is <em>not</em> how you ask someone out.</p><p>“The fuck you think? We go grab a coffee, or a beer, or whatever. Then you can spend an hour or two cutting me down to size, invalidating my existence, and making me feel like shit all to your little SJW-heart’s content. Then we go to my place or yours and fuck our brains out,” Steve says.</p><p>Ryan draws a breath to respond, but lets it out and tilts his head curiously. He puts his hands in his pockets, thumbs outside pointing at his crotch, and strolls towards Steve and Sam. His eyes dart to Steve’s grip on Sam’s hand.</p><p>Unfortunately, the group of people Ryan had been standing with has taken an interest. A pretty girl with blue hair frowns angrily. “No way! You’re just trying to lure him somewhere secluded so you can beat him up.”</p><p>Steve’s temper flares. “Shut up, you fucking cunt! When the fuck have I ever hurt a fag? Huh? Name fucking once. You fucking can’t. My best bro is a fucking switch hitter for fuck sake.”</p><p>Sam huffs a quiet laugh and gives Steve’s hand a little squeeze.</p><p>Ryan lifts his hand in a stop gesture at the girl, looking back at her. “Please, don’t interrupt. I’m just going to…” he trails off and looks back at Steve, stopping a few feet again. His smile is uncertain and his gaze skeptical. “You’re asking me on a date…?”</p><p>“Yeah, so?”</p><p>The group behind Ryan snigger. “Damn, Steve! That was the worst date proposition I’ve ever heard,” one of the guys says.</p><p>Steve frowns at him. “Joe, we all know he’s gonna say no. Ain’t gonna come in here and be degraded in front of all of you when I already know I’m shot down. It doesn’t fucking matter. I had to ask.”</p><p>Ryan waves his hand at his friends in a stay-down gesture. “Stay out of it, damnit.” He looks back at Steve. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I- I- when were you thinking? Today?”</p><p>“Um. Whenever you’d like. Today I’m busy for about 2 and a half, maybe three more hours. Helping this bastard study. But I’m free afterward,” Steve answers with a perplexed and slightly alarmed expression, lifting Sam’s hand a little bit when he says ‘bastard’.</p><p>Ryan looks at Sam with a troubled frown. “Just… um. Are you his… boy… friend?”</p><p>Sam smiles and shakes his head.</p><p>“Nah, man. He’s my best bro. Occasionally with benefits. Nine inches and this much girth of benefits,” Steve says proudly and holds up his hand shaping it into Sam’s dick’s girth.</p><p>Sam hiccups a giggle, cheeks getting hot, and looks down smiling. “Oh my god,” he mumbles.</p><p>“Hey, I told you I wanted the fucking bragging rights,” Steve sniggers, duffing Sam’s shoulder with his own. “What’s the fucking point of being out if I can’t brag?”</p><p>Ryan’s lips twitch into a smile, looking between them but directing himself at Steve. “So… you and I… how about we meet up at Plankton in three hours?”</p><p>Steve grins. “A’ight.”</p><p>Sam patiently waits while Ryan and Steve exchange phone numbers. When they’re outside of the lecture hall Sam’s friggin’ giddy as if he’s the one who manned up and asked someone for a date. “You did it! You asked Ryan out! This is great!” he enthuses.</p><p>Steve lets go of Sam’s hand with a shuddering breath. “Can’t believe he said yes. Fuck, I thought I was gonna throw up. Shit, that was scary,” he says and rubs his sweaty hands on his pants.</p><p>“Okay, next time, don’t try to intimidate potential dates with the size of your other lovers’ dicks,” Sam suggests, grinning.</p><p>Steve gives Sam a little push between the shoulder blades to get him walking. “I know. I’m not that stupid. I just didn’t think he’d ever say yes.”</p><p>“Hey, you said he thinks you’re a snack. Maybe he likes salty snacks?” Sam teases.</p><p>Steve shrugs. “If he stands me up, or if everything goes to shit, could you… could you sleep at my place? Not for sex or anything. I just…”</p><p>“Yeah, sure. Dean will drive me to school tomorrow.”</p><p>“Thanks. I’d never have dared do that without you. You’re a real bro.”</p><p>Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “I didn’t do anything, Steve. I was just there.”</p><p>“That’s the fucking point. You were there. You’re always there when I need you.” Steve taps his heart with a fist.</p><p>“Will you text me to let me know if it worked out?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course. Nick would kick my ass otherwise.”</p><p>Mentioning Nick makes Sam remember something else he wanted to talk with Steve about. “Oh, you remember how I was talking to Ella in the kitchen at your housewarming party?”</p><p>“Mhm?”</p><p>“She said it sounded like I was depressed. And I googled, ‘Am I depressed?’,” Sam starts saying. Steve snorts a laugh and gives him an amused look but doesn’t interrupt. “And, and, I did a test. And it said it seemed like I was severely depressed.”</p><p>“Seriously? You couldn’t figure that out with your toes? Fuck, Samster, I coulda told you that. The fuck do you think Dean babysitting you is all about? Everyone who knows you and hangs out with you often knows it.”</p><p>“I didn’t realize that until I talked to Ella. She and the internet test both said I should try to get therapy.”</p><p>“I second that. And start working out again. That boosts endorphins and shit. Hey, maybe we can work out before class like we used to? At least for two weeks. I start my new job then and won’t be able to come here before you start school.”</p><p>Sam’s missed working out even if he can’t bring himself to go to the gym alone. “Yeah. I’d like that.”</p><p>“You want me to go with you to the front desk and see if they’ve got some kind of mental health program here? I’m pretty sure they do. Most good colleges do.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Right on. We’ll head there straight away. Oh, and in case you’ve got those idiot thoughts about being a burden or whatever; don’t. You’re my fucking rock. So what if that rock is underwater right now? I fucking love you, man. I’d be in fucking hell if you weren’t my bro.”</p><p>Sam looks at his feet and smiles shyly. It feels good hearing it. Right now he doesn’t feel like a burden. That’s a thought that only comes late at night when he can’t sleep. “Same.” He looks up at Steve. “Ella said I could call if I needed to talk. Do you think I should call her?”</p><p>“Hell, yeah. If you feel comfortable talking to her, call. I don’t know much about managing depression. Dad never let me go to therapy for fear of me snitching on him. So all I do when depression hits is work out until I’m too sore and exhausted to think.”</p><p>“You’ve been depressed?”</p><p>Steve looks at Sam like he’d said the funniest thing ever. “To and fro all my life. Living in constant fear will do that to you.”</p><p>“Huh.” Sam would never have guessed.</p>
<hr/><p>Dean leans against his car with his arms crossed over his chest and his gun stuck in the front of his pants, visible. (But with the safety on. He’s not dumb and would very much like to keep his junk intact.) Gabe’s scared that Kelvin will get violent and that’s why he wanted Dean to come along and bring his gun. All Dean has to do is stand here and look intimidating. Dean’s sure Gabe’s prediction was right. If Dean hadn’t been here, Kelvin would’ve snapped right into self-defense. But Dean’s not the only one who can keep his head cool in a tight spot. The professor can too.</p><p>Gabe delivers the threat and demands with a smile on his face. Dean can’t hear what he says but he sees Kelvin’s face darken dangerously, gaze flicking to Dean and the gun with his jaw muscles ticking, then answering Gabe curtly, taking his instructions visibly seething but barely moving. He hands the photos back after briefly looking through them.</p><p>Gabe backs away towards Dean. “Tomorrow after class or the clock starts ticking,” Gabe says before turning around and slinking into the passenger seat of Dean’s car. Dean remains standing until Kelvin has gotten into his own car and driven away.</p><p>Gabe throws the envelope with the pictures in the back seat when Dean gets in. “That went better than expected.”</p><p>“We don’t know that yet. Can you open the glove compartment and hand me the box of ammo?” Dean asks. Gabe does as asked then watches curiously as Dean unloads the gun and puts the bullets in the box. Dean gets out and puts the ammo box in the trunk, then comes back and leans over Gabe to put his gun in the glove compartment, making sure all his papers are in order. “Alright. First thing’s first. We need to return the pictures to your apartment. The guy’s an idiot. He should’ve taken them and destroyed them,” he says and starts the car.</p><p>“I told them I had digital copies so there’s no use.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, someone who has no business having those pictures could get at them and he can’t control what happens to them if he doesn’t hang on to them.”</p><p>“Good point.”</p><p>A minute of driving later, they’re stopped by a police car. Dean rolls down his car window, takes his paperwork out of the glove compartment and his driver’s license from his pocket and puts them on the dashboard in front of him, then puts his hands on the steering wheel. One of the officers comes walking towards Dean’s window with a hand on his gun. “Good afternoon, Sir. License and registration, please.”</p><p>Dean hands them over and puts his hands back on the steering wheel.</p><p>The officer takes a brief look at the papers. “Do you know why we stopped you, Mr.Winchester?”</p><p>“No, Sir.”</p><p>“Have you been by the college parking lot today?” the officer asks.</p><p>“Yes, Sir. I just left it. I’ve got a friend over there who’s been harassed in the parking lot. She’s afraid and asked me to stand there looking menacing while she walked to her car.”</p><p>“Are you carrying a weapon?”</p><p>“No, Sir. But I’ve got an unloaded gun in my glove compartment. I’ve got a CCW permit for it.” Dean takes the permit from the dashboard and hands it over.</p><p>“Any other weapons?”</p><p>“A swiss army knife in my left pant pocket, and a full toolbox in the trunk. Amongst the other tools, there’s a knife I use for work purposes.”</p><p>“Alright. And your passenger?” The officer looks over to Gabe. “Are you carrying any weapons?”</p><p>“No, Sir.”</p><p>“Both of you, step out of the car, please. Keep your hands where I can see them and put your hands against the car.”</p><p>Dean’s courteous and friendly, doing what he’s told, letting the officer pat him down, then stands patiently waiting, keeping his position while the officer goes back to the patrol car to check Dean’s paperwork. While the second officer does the check the first officer comes back and checks Dean’s gun for bullets. He tells Dean someone’s made a call about an armed man on the parking lot and Dean confirms it’s probably him, chatting along, expanding the details of his lie, happily telling the officer that before Annie―who got to play the role as the harassed girl Dean was waiting for―came he’d only seen Professor Kelvin Marcus and nodded his hello. Dean’s paperwork checks out and after a few more minutes of chatting with the officer, Dave, lets them go, giving Dean a pat on the shoulder and a comment about how the world needs more upstanding young men like Dean.</p><p>“Wow. You speak cop fluently,” Gabe remarks when they’re driving away.</p><p>“Cops and military love me, man. And I’d say we rattled Marcus a whole lot more than he let on.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“Because calling the cops on us was only smart if we weren’t in possession of the photos of him fucking a minor and a student. And you can bet your ass I’d rat him out if we were actually booked.”</p><p>“How did you know he’d call the cops on us?”</p><p>“I didn’t. But Cali has crazy gun laws and I was wearing mine openly. I ain’t taking chances. And it makes sense for him to call. We can’t harm him if we’re in jail. Bet he’s gonna be thrilled when he sees me back at Sam’s side tomorrow,” Dean sniggers.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for commenting. :) And some good things are starting to happen in this chapter. </p><p>You'll have to wait for the next because now we're caught up and I'll be pretty busy this week. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean pokes at Sam to figure out if the blackmailing works. Nick's embracing his stalkerish tendencies and finds out someone else might be having a secret lover.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings for this chapter. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>“Honey, I’m hooome!” Dean calls out as usual when he steps inside.</p><p>Nick comes scurrying downstairs with his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’re home early. What about Sam?”</p><p>“Steve’s filling in for me. Gabe needed a favor,” Dean says and meets Nick halfway over the living room floor, leaning in to give Nick his customary cheek-kiss. Only, Nick’s turning his head for the same reason, making it a brief, chaste kiss on the lips instead.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>“Great. Then we can go buy your computer straight away,” Nick enthuses as if things didn’t just get awkward. “I picked these up for you,” he says and holds up a couple of led light rolls. “So I can install them where you want them while you install the computer. Or the other way around, if you want.”</p><p>
  <em>Does that mean he’s okay with that kind of greeting?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop it, you moron! Don’t be such a needy fucking bitch.</em>
</p><p>Dean huffs a bemused little laugh. “I can’t afford a computer yet.”</p><p>“But I can. You can simply divide the cost and add it to the rent.” Nick scrunches up his face, lowers his shoulders, and tips his head backward like a whiny toddler. “Come oooon. I want your room to get finished now so you’ll be happy living there.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> happy living here.”</p><p>“Happi-<em>er</em>. Don’t nitpick on words. Please. I’ll let you vary how much you pay depending on what you can afford each month. And no interest. It’s perfect.”</p><p>Dean already owes him far too much. All the leverage he has on Dean puts Dean solidly under his thumb.</p><p>
  <em>But I really want that computer…</em>
</p><p>“Alright. Can we stop at a grocery store too? Steve and I built the barbecue today and we should christen it.”</p><p>“Yes. Great. Let’s go.” Nick almost looks maniacal. It’s a fucking mystery why.</p><p>They take Nick’s van. Dean sits in the passenger seat, unable to help the excitement bubbling inside of him. The day had gone from shitty to great in a span of a minute. He whistles ‘Hotel California’ to himself, then, “What if I can only pay, like, five bucks a month? I’d have to live with you for eons.”</p><p>Nick grins and takes his eyes off the road for a second to say, “Let’s make it an incredibly expensive computer.”</p><p>Dean laughs. Happiness bubbling and fizzling within, overshadowing the whole Kelvin situation for a moment.</p><p>And Nick sings, “~<em>Welcome to the Hotel California. You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave</em>~”</p>
<hr/><p>Dean has never owned a computer before, but he’s good at figuring out electronics. Installing the hardware goes fast. Booting the computer up and configuring all the software including updates, takes forever. In the meantime, he and Nick install the strips of led lights and the wall mirror. Then comes the new throw-pillows with turnable sequins and the orange and pink lava lamp. (Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to place a furniture shop beside a computer store?) Dean’s struggling not to cry, sitting on his bed stroking one of the pillows, flipping the sequins from turquoise to cerise and back. Nick sits beside him looking around in bewilderment, stroking another pillow flipping neon green sequins to silver and back. Dean’s staring at his computer, currently configuring updates.</p><p>Nick looks at everything else. “This is, without comparison, the most abominable room I’ve ever been in. I feel like I wandered into a rave.”</p><p>“I love it,” Dean deadpans.</p><p>“And you should. Nobody else will.” Nick takes the small remote and pushes a button. The strips along the wall and the floor change color to red. “Boom, whorehouse.” Another button push and the room turns cyan. “Boom, underwater.” A final button and the color starts to slowly shift between all the options. “This is nightmarish. Sex in here must be exhilarating.”</p><p>Dean sniggers. “You’re not one for making sense, huh?”</p><p>“No, no. I appreciate the novelty of it. With the mirror like that and the desk light lit, it would be really fucking visually pleasing with all the highlights on a sweaty body. It’s the thought of living like this that freaks me out. Sleeping like this. But if I still did drugs I’d move in with you. It’s… it’s…”</p><p>“Perfect,” Dean finishes.</p><p>Nick grins at him. “As long as you like it. Can we go fire up the grill? I’m getting hungry.”</p><p>It’s past 11 PM when Steve steps out on the porch to join them. “Guess who got railed today?” he smirks.</p><p>“Damnit, Steve. You were supposed to study with Sam, not fuck him,” Dean scolds with a frown.</p><p>Steve scoffs and grabs a beer from the cooler. “Not with Sam, jackass. I asked out a classmate, Ryan. He said yes and we met up when Sam and I were done.”</p><p>“Oh. In that case, <em>hells yeah</em>, that’s my boy!” Dean says with a grin and holds up his hand for a high five. Steve slaps his hand, grabs a lawn chair, and sits down between them.</p><p>"So our Babygay finally starts to grow wing feathers," Nick purrs. "Was it a hump and dump, or are you seeing him again?"</p><p>"We're going out on Thursday. It's not serious yet. We've only had one date for fuck sake. But I like him. We'll see where it leads."</p><p>"Awesome."</p><p>There's a short lull where all of them take a sip of their beers, then Nick says, "So what have you two done today that you feel proud of?"</p><p>Dean groans. "Is this another one of those positive affirmation exercises?"</p><p>"No. Of course not,” Nick refutes and takes a deep swig of his beer. He dries his mouth off and makes Steve snigger by saying, “I'll go first. I helped Dean turn his room into a unicorn fart and put the most imbecile smile on his face, and now I'll live on that damn smile for the rest of the week."</p><p>"You finished your room, bro?"</p><p>Dean beams, the excited glow in his chest impossible to tamper down. "Almost. It's damn near perfect now."</p><p>"I don't get how you sleep with all that light. I have trouble sleeping if I can see my hand in front of my face. You afraid of the dark or something?" Steve asks.</p><p>"Nah, man. I just like to know where I am the moment I open my eyes. I don't know how many times I've stumbled into furniture or walked into walls because I forgot we moved. Or worse, started making plans to hang out with people I'm no longer near." That’s the fucking worst. Waking up, thinking, ‘Today after school, me and so-and-so can go to the lake. We can bring Sammy, and…’ then realizing they’re four states away from those people.</p><p>
  <em>That won’t happen for years now. I owe Nick too much money.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heh. I never thought I’d see the day when I was happy about owing someone money.</em>
</p><p>"You're no longer going to be in any doubt where you are, that's for sure," Nick sniggers. “It’ll be like waking up in a damned nightclub.”</p><p>"As I said; perfect," Dean grins.</p><p>"Now it's your turn, Steve. What have you accomplished today?" Nick asks.</p><p>"I got Sam booked in to talk to the school's mental health coordinator, and after a chat with her, she put him high on the list to talk to a therapist. They'll call as soon as they find an open spot," Steve answers and sips his beer with a self-satisfied smirk.</p><p>"That's great! Therapy never worked for me due to trust issues, but it's done wonders for my siblings and they've loosely practiced what they learned with me," Nick says, expression opening up, his smile warm and surprised.</p><p>"Okay, that's great and all, but I'm sorry, I don't really get it,” Dean says. “I get that depression is serious. But, like, come on. You can't handle school because you're a bit sad? Dude. Perpetual sadness and crippling anxiety are just part of life. You paint a smile on your face and play through the pain."</p><p>Steve shakes his head. "Nah, man. I get where you're coming from because that was me most of my life. But sooner or later the cup's gonna overflow. By the time Sam figured me out and took pity on me I was actively researching the quickest, most painless way to end my life. Now I don't want to die anymore. He fucking saved my life and he doesn't even know it."</p><p>"Whoa."</p><p>"Denial is a deadly tool," Nick agrees.</p><p>"Yeah. But I gotta credit you,” Steve says and looks at Dean, gesturing at him with the beer. “You've done several key things to help combat Sam's depression. With some luck, we'll catch him before he slides too deep. Just don’t tell him you think he’s exaggerating or whatever. He might believe it, think there’s something wrong with him, and backslide into a deathwish real fucking fast. Take it from someone who knows.”</p><p>“Yeah, no. I get that. Like, <em>dude</em>. Sam always fucking loved school. If he can’t make himself study, something’s off and the cotton gloves come on.”</p><p>Steve sniggers and shakes his head. “It’s fucking funny to me what the two of you deem minimal effort.”</p><p>“Whatever man. If I need to lower the bar for him, I will. But for now, he’ll just feel useless if I lower the bar too much.”</p><p>“How about you, Dean? What have you done that you’re proud of today?” Nick asks and takes a swig of his beer.</p><p>“I helped Gabe blackmail someone.”</p><p>Nick inhales his beer and snorts it into his sinuses, coughing. Steve cackles.</p><p>Dean sips his beer and watches Nick struggle to get his breathing sorted out.</p><p>“That’s your choice? You two built a fancy-ass fucking brick barbecue from scratch, but you choose to go with a criminal endeavor?” Nick sputters when he finally can talk again.</p><p>“Hey! The guy was blackmailing Sammy for sex. We only threatened to turn the tables if he doesn’t break it off,” Dean defends.</p><p>“You found a way to get at Professor Marcus?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised hopefully.</p><p>“Yep. If he doesn’t break up with Sam tomorrow after school, or if he lets Sam’s grades be affected by the breakup, he’ll find himself waist-deep in shit.”</p><p>Nick’s mouth opens and closes like a stranded fish for several seconds, then he lets out a falsetto, “<em>Professor???</em>”</p><p>It would be funny if the subject matter wasn’t so grave.</p><p>Nick’s eyes darken and his face goes red. “That’s it. I’m gonna kill him. Where’s your gun?” he says and hastily gets up from his lawn chair, striding into the house.</p><p>Dean manages to tackle him to the ground in the living room and it takes a few minutes to calm him down. But eventually, Nick can be lured out on the porch again to finish his beer and listen to Dean telling them what happened.</p><p>“It’s pretty telling about our character,” Steve muses after a moment of silence, “that all of us chose something we did for someone else even if we’ve done things to be proud of for ourselves too.”</p><p>It’s a good reflection to end the evening on for three self-identifying assholes.</p>
<hr/><p>“Earth to Sammy, come in, Sammy.”</p><p>Sam jerks when Dean snaps his fingers right under his nose. “What? Oh. I’m sorry, I spaced out for a minute.”</p><p>“No shit.” Dean reaches out and closes Sam’s laptop, then crosses his arms on top of the short end of Sam’s desk where he’s sitting. “Something happen in school today?”</p><p>“What? No. Um. I’m just―”</p><p>“Lying,” Dean finishes the sentence for Sam. “That’s your lying face.” He points an accusing finger at Sam’s face. “What happened? You might as well tell me because you ain’t getting any schoolwork done.”</p><p>Sam draws breath to refute but Dean gives him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow as if he can sense the lie, so Sam deflates. “Yeah, okay. So get this, I’ve been seeing someone in secret, and he’s been really romantic and persistent. Hell, just last weekend I was with him and he talked about how much he wanted me. But today he sent me a text and asked me to meet up with him during the lunch break, and, and, he broke up with me.”</p><p>Dean frowns. “I thought you’re in love with Nick?”</p><p>“I am!”</p><p>“So why are you distracted? Are you sad about getting ditched by someone you’re not in love with? Did he threaten you? Is that it? Sammy, did he threaten you?”</p><p>Sam huffs, lip quirking in soft amusement. “No. No. It’s just… It’s odd. I, I, I’ve been wanting to break up with him, but. Um. Now I’m wondering if there’s something I did wrong. I’m. I’m a total disaster when it comes to relationships. I, I, so get this. I always found Romeo and Juliette to be the most romantic couple out there,” Sam starts saying, then chuckles when Dean cringes so hard he leans back and pulls his shoulders up, grimacing.</p><p>“Dude, please no,” Dean says. “They’re an awful couple. They had no communication, they’d known each other for like 15 minutes of which they spent most of fucking. Then they fucking kill themselves because they can’t keep fucking. Like what the fuck, man? The story devalues our ability to love and lose and love again. It’s just two drama llamas without a single brain cell between them. You want a romantic couple to look up to? Gomez and Morticia Addams. Those two love and romance each other despite having kids and living in a fucking looney bin.”</p><p>“Yeah, but… Like Romeo and Juliette love each other <em>so much</em>. That’s not the point. What I’m trying to say is, that romance isn’t like the books and I’m totally lost. I screwed it up with Brady because I didn’t get that we were dating. I screwed up with Mike because I couldn’t tell the difference between casual and serious. I’ve somehow screwed up with Nick even though he says he wants me. But this guy, like, we had a textbook romance. I knew where I stood with him. And, and, then he suddenly out of the blue ends it. It’s got to be something wrong with me. It <em>has</em> to be. I don’t get why he’d end it otherwise,” Sam rambles, gesturing vividly with his hands.</p><p>Dean drags a hand over his face with a frustrated sigh. “No. Uh-uh. You and Brade didn’t work out because he wasn’t telling you the truth about his feelings and what he wanted. You and Mike didn’t work out because you told him you’re a minor and it made him feel like a fucking child molester. You and Nick… Yes, he likes you, but he’s smart enough to realize he’s a dangerous mess that you don’t have the emotional wisdom to handle. You just admitted so yourself for fuck sake. Believe me, I’m living with the guy. He’s fucking hard mode, relationship-wise. <em>Trust me.</em>”</p><p>“I think we could work it out,” Sam mutters and looks down at his closed laptop, scraping with a finger on its lid.</p><p>“Whatever. So. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that the guy who dumped you wasn’t, in fact, doing textbook romance. I think he was using you for sex and validation, or whatever, because you, as you yourself say, don’t have much experience with romance, and, as such, you’re easily duped. He was probably in a relationship with someone else already. I, personally, think he didn’t dump you because of anything you did. I think you conducted your so-called romance here on campus and he dumped you when I started hanging around and the risk of being found out got too great.”</p><p>Sam scratches his cheek, looking away. “Maybe…”</p><p>“It’s the married man, right? Gabe said you have a married lover?”</p><p>Sam side-eyes Dean briefly, then nods. “Yeah…”</p><p>“Whelp. There you have it,” Dean says and slaps a hand on the desk. “If I outed him he stood to face a nasty divorce where he’s the bad guy because he cheated.”</p><p>“No. You don’t understand. He and his wife are just friends. She knows he’s gay and they’re just living together to raise their daughter. She has a lover too. We’re only keeping it secret because I’m one of his stu―!” Sam’s mouth snaps shut when he realizes what he’s about to say. Judging by Dean’s dark expression he might have said too much already.</p><p>“Yeahuh. Did he tell you this or have you seen the two interact?”</p><p>“No. I, he, um. He told me.”</p><p>“He lied, Sammy. <em>Fuck</em>. No wonder he didn’t want me in the room,” Dean says with a disgusted grimace, showing he jumped to the right conclusion. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff while leaning forward to cross his arms on the desk again. “Alright. Talk to me. What did he do that you thought was textbook romance?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter now. He dumped me.”</p><p>“Oh no. It’s fucking important. You said you don’t understand romance. But you’ve told Nick that you like romantic shit. So give a little. Tell me what you perceived as textbook romance. I’ll tell you that…” Dean leans forward, lips quirking in a tiny smile, and lowers his voice, looking at the door as if he’s telling a secret, “...your big brother is also a sucker for romantic gestures.” He leans back and resumes talking in his normal tone. “I don’t think we consider the same things romantic, though.”</p><p>“What do you consider romantic?” Sam asks, curious now.</p><p>“You’ll tell me about Mr. Loverboy if I tell you?”</p><p>Dean’s already figured out who it is so he might as well. “Okay.”</p><p>“Alright. Romantic gestures of grand proportions would be finding a homeless dumpster-fire sleeping in a car and giving it a home because your crush loves said dumpster-fire. Or saving your crush’s best friend from abuse and homelessness.”</p><p>With a small thrill, Sam realizes who Dean’s talking about and smiles down at his lap. “That isn’t really romantic…”</p><p>“Isn’t it? Dude. You get that when Nick extended that offer we were both actively plotting how to get rid of each other. But okay. As I said, we might define romantic differently. For me, it’s creating something, making sacrifices, giving up your time, prioritizing the person you’re into before yourself, not expecting or demanding anything in return. On the other hand, the same things I consider romantic I do all the time for other reasons, so I guess it’s the thought behind it that tells me if it’s romantic or not.”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>Dean grins. “Like cooking. It’s my go-to romantic gesture if I’m really into someone. If I like you, I want to feed you. If I really like you, I want to make that food myself. But I cook for people out of necessity too, and I do it for people I care for even if it’s just platonic, right? It’s something that requires my time, my creativity, and my wish to bring pleasure all into one.” He suddenly sniggers. “Gabe gets me. We’re on the same wavelength about this. Just the whole sharing food thing, right? I’ll bring candy or a sandwich or whatever for him, then I’ll find a small creation of his in a pocket or my car or bag. The intention isn’t romantic, but it’s fucking love in the making.”</p><p>“Huh. Yeah, I guess I can see that. And I get the whole romantic, candlelit dinner thing. I love that.”</p><p>Dean shrugs. “I don’t need the frou-frou shit. But, and I’ll say this, because I consider gestures of love romantic depending on the emotion that’s behind them, it can be a bit confusing sometimes. Like if someone’s play-flirting with me but the actual care behind their gestures is platonic.”</p><p>“Can you give an example?”</p><p>Dean’s smile seems to freeze for a beat before his face reanimates and he shakes his head and waves dismissively. “Nah. Now it’s your turn. Tell me about Mr. Textbook romantic.”</p><p>“Okay. So I’d seen him checking me out. And after Brady broke up with me…” Sam starts talking.</p><p>When he tells Dean what Kelvin said about it being special because Sam was an A-student who didn’t want to fuck him because of bad grades so he didn’t have any power over Sam, Dean interrupts him. “You get that’s bullshit, right? Teacher, boss, supervisor, they’ll all have leverage over you no matter how good of an employee or student you are.”</p><p>“Yeah. I get that now. But back then I believed him,” Sam says, then goes on detailing the trip to the beach cabin, holding hands while strolling on the beach, romantic dinner at a restaurant, drinking wine and eating blue cheese on the porch, talking for hours. Dean’s a very good listener when he wants to be. He interrupts now and then to make remarks like, ‘Man, that moment on the porch is right up my alley. I’m fucking in. Feeding me in an intimate setting while talking? Fuck yeah.’ And, when Sam tells him about the no-calling rule and the panicked feeling Sam got after he got home, ‘Okay, that’s a red flag. I’d be a fucking brat about it. Kudos to you for respecting Brady’s wish for distance, but I wouldn’t have. Next time, call a friend or an ex or whoever and spill. There are situations that are exceptions to every rule, okay?’ The words keep pouring out of Sam and it’s such a relief not to hide this from Dean.</p><p>He doesn’t get through more than a fourth, maybe less, before Kevin Tran gets home. Dean has to go to work shortly after but Sam feels tons lighter afterward. For once he’s looking forward to talking more with Dean about stuff like this. Maybe because Dean hadn’t been mad or shamed him. He’d gotten angry sometimes at stuff Kelvin had done, but he’d also agreed about other things being nice. Sam breaks Dean’s no-study-past-8 o’clock rule to make up for the time lost talking. But studying flows and actually is fun at the moment.</p><p>Kelvin broke up with him. He’s free.</p><p>That thought is his last when he goes to bed. For once, he falls asleep almost instantly.</p>
<hr/><p>Nick holds up his phone to record. Dean hasn't noticed him yet and Nick’s feeling a strong schadenfreude in regards to Mikey, who’s at Nick’s place, jamming with Gabe. It’s rare that Nick doesn’t go home during the days they rehearse, but he spent more than an hour after work calling every decent karaoke bar in the city, saying, ‘Hi. One of my closest friends just got a job as a karaoke host. He invited me to come to watch, but amidst all excitement, he forgot to tell me the name of the bar. You wouldn’t happen to have a Dean Winchester working for you tonight?’ 17 bars later it paid off. Part of Nick’s mind is cataloging things like, ‘He needs more microphone training,’ and, ‘Ooh. That’s a charming move. I might have to copy that the next time I’m on stage.’ The other part is marveling at Dean’s stage presence and spiting Dean for lying: Dean sings very well.</p><p>Currently, he’s singing Janis Joplin’s ‘Piece of my heart’ with such a feeling Nick has goosebumps.</p><p>So Dean’s job is to encourage people to come up and sing, hyping the mood, getting people to stay longer and drink more. If they don’t have a steady stream of people queued up to sing Dean does a solo number, but he’s also offering to join anyone who wants to sing but doesn’t dare to do it alone - all you have to do is add a ‘+DW’ to the song when you add it to the queue form. Dean’s there as entertainment. He isn’t even the one handling the karaoke machine, which was a delightful surprise. That means he most likely won’t find out Nick’s here until it’s ‘Luci+DW’s turn to sing ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’</p><p>Nick smirks in anticipation of Dean’s reaction. Not that Nick’s afraid to sing alone. But if Dean asks, Nick’s going to claim his stage-persona Lucifer is. It could be true. Lucifer’s in a band after all.</p><p>Dean finishes the song, loudly cheered by the patrons, then introduces the next song that will be sung by three guests, and steps down from the stage to look at them singing.</p><p>Nick waits, mostly hidden behind the stone pillar by the bar, away from the scene and all the tables. Three more songs, then Dean announces, “Looks like I’m about to get the honor to sing a romantic duet with a beautiful lady. Luci, it’s your turn to come up here and sing ‘Ain’t no mountain high enough’,” and looks around the patrons to see who the mystery woman might be.</p><p>Nick slides off the barstool, abandoning his soda, stepping into view. He starts walking towards the scene, keeping his face neutral.</p><p>Dean’s smiling face freezes, eyes widening when he sees Nick. Nick feels like cackling but only offers a slight smile and a small wave.</p><p>Dean’s ‘Oh shit’-expression only lasts a second before he reanimates, grinning. “Folks, I stand corrected. It’s not a beautiful lady, but a handsome devil. Come on up here, Sir. You ever sung in front of people before?”</p><p>Nick smirks, genuinely amused. “I have, but it was very long since I did. Could you take Tammi Terrell’s parts?”</p><p>“You’ve got it, handsome.” Dean keeps his smile plastered on his face but to Nick’s utter delight he has something haunted about his eyes like he’s freaking out internally. He hands Nick a microphone and takes one for himself and gestures at his colleague to start the song.</p><p>The familiar ‘<em>ding ding ding</em>’ intro of the song starts playing. Nick doesn’t bother looking at the screen. He stands facing Dean, counting in his cue, and starts singing, “<em>~Listen, baby, Ain't no mountain high, Ain't no valley low, Ain't no river wide enough, baby...~</em>” Nick’s singing to Dean as he sings to Sam when Sam watches him perform, except the message is different. He wants to be as close as humanly possible with Sam, getting to know him both as a person and in a biblical sense. Dean, on the other hand, is also a baby bird, equally helpless to fend off hurt, equally self-obliterating. It’s hard not to look at both Winchesters and see the tiny bird he’d once found under the tree in Chuck’s backyard. Half naked, ugly, with an odd tuft of fuzz on its head and needle-like protrusions that would grow to be feathers if it got to live. Nick had climbed up the tree to put the bird back in the nest, then fallen and fractured his wrist. He never found out if the bird made it but ever since, he’s considered people that triggered his protective side as baby birds.</p><p>Dean’s vulnerability when it comes to permanency makes Nick want to give it to him. He’s thought a lot about Dean’s throwaway statement the other day: ‘Perpetual sadness and crippling anxiety are just part of life.’ When Nick chose the song for this little prank, he had all this in mind. The prank is that he’s here, not the song. The song’s a promise sung to Dean with all the conviction and showmanship he can muster.</p><p>Dean falters a little bit at his first lines before he finds his musical footing. He loves to sing and he loves to perform, and it shows. Nick takes pity on him, throws an arm around his shoulders, and sings a few parts directed to the audience, but at the end of the song Nick’s snagged full eye-contact with Dean again, enjoying how hard Dean’s blushing while they sing.</p><p>The applause and wolf-whistles when they’re done are like taking a hit on a particularly good drug.</p><p>“Wow. Sir, you’re awesome. You should join a band or something. I’d pay to watch you sing,” Dean says.</p><p>Nick sniggers and pretends to be flustered. “Thanks. I’ll think about it,” he says then gets off the stage, winking at a particularly pretty lady by one of the tables as he makes his way back to the bar.</p><p>Dean keeps track of him after that. Anytime Dean throws him a look Nick winks, toasts him with his soda, throws him a kiss, or something else that will make Dean slightly awkward. It’s not easy. Dean hides awkwardness fairly well. An hour later when Dean takes a little break he comes to the bar and hooks an arm around Nick’s neck. “I thought I told you not to come here,” he says with a friendly smile to contrast his tone.</p><p>“Mhm. You did. And I told you I don’t give a shit what you said. Also, you’re a lying liar who lies. <em>You</em> said you can’t sing.”</p><p>“I said I’m not as good as you.”</p><p>Nick nods. “Mhm. Like I said. Liar. From now on you’re part of the band and I’m expecting you to sing on every rehearsal because you need mic-training.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes widen in alarm. He leans in close and lowers his voice, hissing, “Jesus, <em>no</em>. I can’t sing in front of Mike!”</p><p>“You can, and you will. It will have the unfortunate side-effect of Mikey’s ovaries exploding, but, I figure, since you’re the one doing most of the cleaning, you won’t mind scraping them off the walls.”</p><p>Dean giggles, leaning his forehead against Nick’s shoulder. “Stop it. He’ll think I suck. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of him.”</p><p>“Oooh reeeally?” Nick purrs. “You’ve got a little thing for my brother, darling?” he asks teasingly.</p><p>Dean raises his head to give him a dark look. “I’ve told you before, he’s hotter than fucking fire. He’s also a shitload of trouble I don’t need. Don’t tell him where I work, okay?”</p><p>Nick narrows his eyes in amusement. His lips twitch, trying to hold back a smirk and failing.</p><p>“Fuck, you told him already?”</p><p>“Oh, no. What would be the fun of that? This is so much funnier,” Nick purrs and holds up his phone so Dean can see the texts on the screen.</p><p>
  <tt><b>Mike: </b>!!! </tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>Jesus Christ! </tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>Holy shit! </tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>WHERE ARE YOU??? </tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>DAMNIT, NICK! TELL ME I NEED TO COME THERE RIGHT NOW!!!</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>Holy hell, he’s good! This isn’t fair! Why do you get to see him when I don’t?</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>Please, pleeeeeease, tell me where you are! </tt><br/>
<tt><b>Mike: </b>At least send more clips of him singing! Please, Nick, don’t do this to me. </tt>
</p><p>Nick sniggers at Dean’s horror struck face. “See? I told you, funnier,” he says with a shit-eating grin.</p><p>“You sent him a video of me singing?”</p><p>“Only a small clip. I didn’t send everything at once. No, I think I’ll feed him little tidbits of this whenever I’m at a safe distance and feel like being a little bitch.” Nick scrolls up a little bit, past a photo of Dean singing to a small clip of Dean singing Janis Joplin. “This is what I sent him.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Dean whines and rubs his hands over his hair.</p><p>“I won’t tell him where you work, but I’ll tell him you had a meltdown over him hearing you sing because you think he’s hotter than fire,” Nick teases.</p><p>Dean gives him a defeated look. “Fuck sake, Nick. We’re not in fucking middle school.”</p><p>Nick sticks his tongue out at him. “Don’t worry about him coming here,” he consoles again. “I won’t tell him and unlike me, he understands boundaries and cares enough not to break them.”</p><p>“Yeah, no, I’m calling bullshit on that. Anyway, my break’s almost over. I gotta get back.”</p><p>Nick frowns. “What do you mean, bullshit?” he asks, Dean gives him an impatient look and points at the stage. “Alright. When do you get off? You want me to give you a lift home?”</p><p>Dean huffs with an amused smirk. “I’m done 2:30. Please, don’t stay that long. You’re an old man. You need your beauty-sleep. More than most,” he remarks and dodges the swat Nick aims his way.</p><p>Nick’s frown remains. Both because if Dean gets off from work at 2:30 AM he won’t be home until nearly one hour later which means far too few hours of sleep before going to chase Sam to class, and because Dean’s implication that Mike out of all people doesn’t understand boundaries. Mike’s the most respectful out of the brothers. Unless…</p><p>Nick’s eyes widen with sudden realization. Unless Mike was drunk enough to do something stupid at the housewarming party? Maybe he made a move on Dean there, giving him that hickey, and that’s what made Dean think Mike doesn’t honor boundaries? Nick thought perhaps it was Lisa, since he’s seen the looks Lisa gives Dean, and Dean says the person wants to creep. But. If Mike slipped up and accidentally tried to make out with someone who wasn’t willing, he wouldn’t want Nick and Gabe to know either.</p><p>Nick calls Mike.</p><p>Mike answers almost instantly. “Where are you, Nick, it’s not funny,” he growls.</p><p>“Yes, hello to you too,” Nick purrs, enjoying the role reversal. “You gave Dean the hickey,” he says with his next breath, voice deadpan and certain.</p><p>“He told you that?” Mike answers, surprised. “He promised not to tell anyone.”</p><p>Nick sniggers darkly. “He didn’t. You just did. <em>I</em> thought it was Lisa. So what happened? You were too drunk to remember how consent works and decided to wing it?”</p><p>“No. Jesus, Nicky, you don’t think I’d do something like that without permission, do you?”</p><p>“Oh, it was definitely without permission. He’s been whining about the hickey for a week. Our boy doesn’t like to be marked up like that,” Nick states. Dean wants another type of ownership, he reflects. More about being around constantly, not calling dibs and skipping off. “So. How did you end up thinking sucking on his neck would be okay?”</p><p>Mike makes a frustrated sound. “We’ve made out before,” he confesses with a tone as if he’s physically fighting the admission. “We went on a date at the pool hall. I did what you told me to and used body language to flirt. I taught him how to shoot pool―”</p><p>Nick throws his head back laughing. “You. You taught a man who's been providing for himself by hustling pool…?”</p><p>Mike’s quiet for a beat, then, “Oh.”</p><p>It sets Nick off laughing again. “Aww. Cheer up. He let you look good because he thinks you’re hotter than a tamale. So. You’ve fucked him and haven’t bothered telling me?” Nick tuts and sighs with theatrical disappointment.</p><p>“We haven’t fucked. We’ve just made out,” Mike refutes.</p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>“Unlike you, I can go on dates without ending up in bed with someone,” Mike snipes.</p><p>“So can I,” Nick argues, “it’s called a <em>failure</em>.” He stares at Dean on the stage, introducing the next song. When Dean steps off the stage to let the two women sing, Nick catches his gaze and saucily blows a kiss. Dean mimics catching it and slapping it against his mouth followed by a sly wink. “Dean’s definitely not the type who’d wait until the third date to sleep with someone,” Nick says. “So either you made a complete fool of yourself or you’re lying to me.”</p><p>“How would <em>you</em> know?” Mike asks suspiciously.</p><p>It’s tempting to launch into a lie about what goes on in Nick’s house when Mike’s not around to witness it, but Dean calling bullshit on Mike respecting boundaries makes him concerned. Instead of answering, he asks, “Are you two going out again?”</p><p>“Um, yes. Tomorrow after he’s done with Sam, actually.”</p><p>Nick relaxes minutely. Mike can’t have fucked up completely if Dean’s still wants to go out with him. The phone call doesn’t last very much longer because Mike starts pestering him about the name of the bar Dean works at so Nick simply hangs up.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for commenting. It's helping me so much to keep sane now during lockdown. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean might be developing an addiction. It's stressing him out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings for this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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<p>Dean strides into the office building and walks up to the reception. He leans an elbow on the counter and smiles brightly at the receptionist―a thin, short-haired lady with wire-framed glasses in her mid-thirties―throwing a brief look at her nametag. “Hi, Kayla. I’m Dean Winchester and I’m here to pick up my date.”</p>
<p>The receptionist smiles politely back at him. “Certainly, Sir,” she answers and picks up the receiver on her desk phone, her other hand hovering over the buttons. “And who should I give the message of your presence to?”</p>
<p>“You know what? How about you giving the hottest guy in the building a call and tell him his date is here,” Dean suggests with a shit-eating grin.</p>
<p>“Sir. If I call the wrong person…”</p>
<p>“I’ll get an upgrade and the guy gets a free meal. I very much doubt you’ll call the wrong person, though. Come on. Live a little. I’ll bet you 20 bucks you’ll get it right.” Dean wiggles playfully and grins, wagging his eyebrows at Kayla.</p>
<p>Kayla gives him a skeptical look but, after a beat of hesitation, pushes one of the buttons on the phone and presses the receiver to her ear. Dean waits with bated breath until someone picks up. “Hi, Michael. There’s a gentleman down here come to pick you up for a date?” Kayla says. Dean presses a hand over his mouth to contain a delighted giggle, holding a thumbs up at Kayla. Kayla smiles briefly at him, then frowns and says dryly, “It’s already half past, Mike,” to something Mike tells her. Her lips twitch in amusement at whatever Mike answers. “Oh, I’m sure the young gentleman won’t mind. But if you want I can call Jonas to take your place.” Mike’s answer makes her giggle. “Alright. I’ll tell him.” She hangs up and smiles broadly at Dean, eyes twinkling. “He’ll be right down. And he apologizes. We’ve got a big account that needs everyone’s attention so we’re all working overtime to meet the deadline.”</p>
<p>“No worries. We didn’t have a set time. The agreement was that I’d text half an hour before I came here. Which I did, by the way. I’m not that big of an ass.”</p>
<p>“I’m just surprised,” Kayla says. “I didn’t know Mike is gay.”</p>
<p>“Oh, he’s not. He’s bi, like me.” Dean grins again. “You called him despite thinking he was straight?”</p>
<p>Kayla shrugs. “You <em>did</em> ask for the hottest guy in the company. There are only two you could’ve meant but Mike’s closer to your age.”</p>
<p>“He’s the reason I discovered I was bi in the first place. Thought he was a damned model when I first saw him,” Dean divulges. “Have you ever seen him perform? He’s in a band.”</p>
<p>“No, I haven’t. Is he any good?”</p>
<p>“Ma’am, he’s fucking incredible. Give me your number and I’ll text you time and place the next time they get a gig. Is he gonna be long? I ain’t the type to wait around or be stood up. If he dawdles too long I’ll take you out instead.”</p>
<p>Kayla chuckles, her smile getting reserved. “I’m flattered, but I’m married.”</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s no problem. We’ll pick up your husband on the way, go eat some nice food then listen to some kickass live music and be on our merry way. It’s not all about sex, you know? I just want to spend my evening off in good company and enjoy life,” Dean answers with his most winning smile. Kayla’s demeanor shifts to openness again. She’s about to answer when the elevator doors ding open and Mike comes striding out of them.</p>
<p>“Hi, Dean. Sorry, I’m late. I was in a meeting and I didn’t hear your text. I―” As soon as Mike’s within reach, Dean hooks a finger over the knot of his tie and pulls him in for a kiss, shutting him right up.</p>
<p>When Dean releases his grip and leans back, Mike’s cheeks are aflame. “Heh. No worries. Are you ready for dinner?”</p>
<p>“I- I- I thought you’d eaten wuh-with Sam already?”</p>
<p>Dean fakes a mournful expression. “I did that, yes. But what about second breakfast?” he jokes.</p>
<p>Kayla chuckles. Dean likes her. That’s quality humor right there.</p>
<p>“I guess I can eat,” Mike answers.</p>
<p>“Great. I know I said I’d go shopping and cook you something real nice, but there’s been a change of plans. I’ll do that the next time. This time, we’re going here...” Dean pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to Mike. He busies himself straightening Mike’s tie while Mike unfolds the flyer and reads. “We don’t have to pay entrance if we eat there first. Most live performances are Fridays and Saturdays, but since I work at the karaoke place then, I’ll never get to go. I figured you’d appreciate it as much as I?”</p>
<p>“I hadn’t anticipated going out, but―”</p>
<p>“Babe, <em>please</em>,” Dean interrupts. “I promise you you can take me home and do whatever you want to me afterward.”</p>
<p>Mike smirks and gets that special glint in his eyes that promises wicked things. “You always let me do whatever I want to you,” he says, then remembers they’ve got an audience, eyes going wide and face snapping in Kayla’s direction. She sits with her chin in her palm sniggering at them. “Sorry, Kuh-Kayla. I, um, that wasn’t very professional.”</p>
<p>“It’s alright. Go. Have fun,” she says with an amused smirk. She looks at Dean and holds out a business card. “My number’s on the back.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. I’ll text you,” Dean chirps, taking the card, handing over two tenners since she managed to call the right guy down, then, to Mike, “You ready to leave?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>They say goodbye to Kayla and leave. The evening is pleasantly balmy. For a second Dean reflects that he’ll get to experience every season in this place if he’s going to stay here for two years. It makes his belly twist with odd anxiety.</p>
<p>“Why did Kayla give you her number?” Mike asks with something strained over his smile.</p>
<p>
  <em>Seriously? You really think I’d pick up one of your co-workers in front of you, Mike? Come on. Give me some credit.</em>
</p>
<p>“I promised I’d text her the next time you perform so she and her husband can come to watch.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” The strained muscles signifying the fakeness of his smile relaxes. “By the way, not everyone at work knows I’m bi, so maybe next time you could hold back on the kissing until we get out?”</p>
<p>“Nu-uh. That doesn’t work for me. I know you’ve dated a co-worker. I know you’re open about it to at least a few colleagues, and that you won’t get fired for it. I ain’t hiding. If we ever get serious you ain’t gonna ‘just-a-friend’ me. Yesterday I had to listen to Sam tell me how he’s been shoved into the closet and shamed and I ain’t buying it. You date me, casual or otherwise, you’re dating the fucking rainbow parade.”</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. “Alright.”</p>
<p>“Look, I agreed to creep in front of your brothers to avoid whatever drama you believe it will cause, but that’s where I draw the line. I’ve come out to fucking <em>everybody</em> so I’ll know who to cut out of my life, okay?”</p>
<p>Mike’s beaming at him now. “It’s okay, Dean. Keep it PG at my workplace and it’s fine. I’ll deal with it if someone’s a homophobe.”</p>
<p>Dean might’ve been working up to actually be angry, but it’s more because he felt offended that Mike thinks he’d pick someone else up in front of Mike. He relaxes. “You mind walking? I parked my car outside your apartment. I’m being presumptuous, but I’m kinda hoping you’ll let me stay the night?”</p>
<p>Mike grabs his wrist and tugs him to a stop then pulls him in for a kiss, wrapping those amazing arms around him. It’s not a chaste kiss either, but one of those mind-melting kisses you can feel all the way down to your toes. It goes on for a good minute before Mike pulls back. “Is that answer enough for you?” he smirks, looking just as debauched as Dean feels.</p>
<p>“Yeah. That’ll do it,” Dean answers, smiling back goofily.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Bacchus Foyer is a rather upscale (by Dean’s wallet’s standard) restaurant with linen napkins and candles in old-looking bottles half-covered by layers of candle wax that’s run in artful droplets. There’s classy piano music playing in the background and the waitstaff is smartly dressed in black and white uniforms and a fresh rosebud in the top buttonhole of their vests. Dean finds it a bit intimidating when waitstaff is dressed in fancier getup than he owns, and as a result, he and John, their waiter, end up in a competition of who can be the most customer-friendly and polite to each other. Dean keeps playing with the silver napkin ring as soon as his hands aren’t engaged in utensil-handling. He reminds himself not to accidentally slip it into his pocket just because the rose pattern stamped into it is soothing to rub over and over.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’d probably make a good catholic. They’re the ones with the rosaries, aren’t they? Or are they the Orthodox ones? Fuck, I don’t know anything about that Jesus crap.</em>
</p>
<p>The table cloth is made out of thick linen and the bread in the breadbasket is so good he wants to stuff his pockets with it. It’s served with homemade herb butter. They got it while they were still looking at the damn menu. Like, <em>hello</em>, if you’re gonna serve us that we don’t even need to order food.</p>
<p>“Oh, did Gabe tell you? We’ve gotten Kelvin to dump Sam. It’s over,” Dean says with a self-satisfied grin and swirls the red wine in his glass before taking a sip. It’s a very good wine. Mike got to pick it out. Beer is more in Dean’s wheelhouse. He’s gone to a beer tasting once and likes to try new, unusual beers. But wine isn’t really his thing. Not to the degree Mike and Nick enjoy it.</p>
<p>“Finally,” Mike says. “That guy has hurt Sam more than I care to think about.”</p>
<p>“No shit. I managed to milk Sam for more intel on the bastard so when it’s time to squeeze him, we’re armed to the teeth with knowledge. Sam didn’t suspect a thing. He thought we were just talking, right? Apparently, he thinks Kelvin is romantic, so I asked him why, and Sam started running his mouth. But I gotta tell you, it was hard to sit there and listen to all the crap Sam said. I wanted to storm out, get my gun, and pay Kelvin a visit. I―” Dean cuts himself short when John comes by to whisk away their plates and ask if they want to see the dessert menu. Mike declines, but Dean absolutely wants to see it.</p>
<p>John comes back with the most mouth-watering dessert menu he’s seen in ages. There are just so many choices that look delicious. “John, could you wait, please?” Dean bids when the waiter is about to wander off and give him time to think. Dean looks at Mike. “You sure you don’t want any?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Are you <em>sure</em>? Because if you change your mind and decide you want to share once the dessert comes out, that’s a dealbreaker. Casual or otherwise, I don’t―, you know what? Nevermind.” He looks back at John. “We’ll have two desserts. It all looked good, but I want two different desserts, so pick the ones you or the chef think are the best. I don’t care if you bring out caramel glazed slugs or whatever if you think it’s the bee’s knees, alright? I’m curious to know if there’s anything that could top the sauce, because that shit was,” he makes a chef’s kiss. “Make sure there are two spoons, though, whatever angelface here claims at the moment.”</p>
<p>“Will do, Sir,” John promises and leaves them.</p>
<p>Mike has an amused smile dancing on his lips. “Not a fan of sharing, huh?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, I don’t mind sharing if the portions are sized for sharing. But I’ve been on too many dates where the girl has claimed she didn’t want any even though I asked her, multiple times I might add, and then she ended up eating half of mine. And they’re always like, ‘But I didn’t want a whole dessert.’ Like, ‘Bitch, I don’t mind eating one and a half, and you could’ve asked the waiter for half a dessert instead of stealing mine.’”</p>
<p>Mike laughs. “It’s clearly something you feel very passionately about,” he says teasingly.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, I’ve got a very complicated relationship with food. If you decline, then change your mind and eat half of mine, you’re not being cutesy and sharing with me, you’re taking my food away from me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone hungry for days as a kid, because I’d fucked up my financial planning so I could only get enough food to provide for Sam. So when I know you coulda had your very own share, but opted to bereave me of mine, that’s, yeah, no, that’s a hard line for me. Maybe I’m selfish or whatever but I don’t care.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles warmly and reaches over the table to lay his hands over Dean’s with an adoring smile. “It makes perfect sense, Dean. You’re not selfish. Not about that or any other thing.”</p>
<p>Dean interlaces their fingers and grins. “It won’t be a problem. Now we’ll have two desserts so we can both taste them. And if you still don’t want any, it means more for me.”</p>
<p>“If he brings out caramel glazed slugs I’m not tasting them,” Mike sniggers.</p>
<p>“Picky eater, huh?” Dean jokes.</p>
<p>Mike laughs, eyes sparkling. Dean watches him, something scary swooping in his belly making him smile dopily. Mike’s just so goddamn gorgeous. “I can be,” Mike says. “But this is a really nice place and the food is great.”</p>
<p>“The best part of it is that next door lies Bacchus’ Backyard. It’s a dance club but they frequently have live performances. If you show the receipt from this place there, you get free entry there.”</p>
<p>“That’s great. How did you find this place?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you know, exploring the city and all, looking for live music,” Dean answers. It could’ve been true. However, Dean just so happens to work roughly 300 feet down the road from here, but he ain’t telling Mike that.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike picks up the tab, which they have a short argument about since Dean was the one who invited Mike out and picked out a fancy-ass expensive place, but he folds when Mike agrees to let him tip.</p>
<p>The band is awesome with high energy and Mike appears to enjoy the show just as much as Dean. They take a cab home. While Mike uses the bathroom Dean goes into the living room and beelines for the black guitar. “Hey, babe. Did you miss me? Has Mikey been taking care of you properly while I was gone?” he says, crouching down in front of the guitar and caressing the curve of her body.</p>
<p>“It’s yours if you want it,” Mike says from behind.</p>
<p>Dean sucks in a breath and turns his torso so he can see Mike standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost with a soft smile. “A-a-are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You don’t have one, and I barely use it.”</p>
<p>“What if your other one breaks?”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll get it repaired or buy a new one. Besides, I never brought you a housewarming gift."</p>
<p>Dean takes the guitar from its stand and hugs it to his chest. "It wasn't my housewarming party."</p>
<p>“You had also moved in,” Mike points out. “Take the guitar. It’s yours.”</p>
<p>Dean gives in, lips stretching his cheeks so hard it hurts. “Thank you.” He turns his head to talk to the guitar. “You hear that, baby? You’re moving in with me now.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. “Now I’ll find out if you’re only coming here to visit her or not. I’ve had my doubts,” he says.</p>
<p>“I hope you’re joking, babe,” Dean says and gets up, still holding the guitar. He walks up to Mike and leans in for a kiss.</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know,” Mike says, smiling against his lips. “You always cozy up to it when you come here.”</p>
<p>“<em>Her</em>,” Dean corrects. “Don’t worry, babe, you’re the main event.”</p>
<p>“No. <em>You’re</em> the main event. You want a drink?”</p>
<p>“You know it,” Dean answers. Mike kisses the tip of his nose―a move that forces Dean to withhold a silly giggle―and wanders off towards the kitchen. Dean goes to sit on the couch, then starts to play a ditty Nick taught him. It sounds different on an acoustic guitar, but it’s a very difficult part to play and Dean needs the practice. “I swear, if I didn’t have a car I’d be an alcoholic,” he tells Mike.</p>
<p>“Why?” Mike asks from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of glass clinking.</p>
<p>“Because drugs are too damn expensive and mess with your control too much,” Dean answers and throws a look towards the kitchen. Mike’s mixing white rum with mojito mix in two highball glasses.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and shakes his head without looking up from what he’s doing. “You answer the question with a viable answer but you get that it’s not really what I was asking, right?”</p>
<p>“What <em>are</em> you asking?” Dean counters, knowing full well what the question is, but not knowing how to answer it.</p>
<p>Mike comes out of the kitchen carrying the two drinks, putting them on the living room table, then goes to fetch the other guitar. He sits down on the other side of the couch and starts playing the secondary voice to the ditty. He plays it slightly differently than Nick, but equally awesome and better adjusted for acoustic guitar. “Why do you think you’d drink enough to become an alcoholic if you didn’t have a car?” he asks, fingers dancing quickly and playfully over the strings with no effort whatsoever.</p>
<p>“Hey, look, I’d never become like Dad, okay? I love the son of a bitch but he drinks too much. He sometimes drank enough to shirk duty and fuck up jobs and I’d never do that. But I like the loosened inhibitions. You know, to pretend life isn’t a constant fucking struggle. If I had the luxury, I woulda liked to be a stoner,” Dean jokes. “Imagine being mildly sedated all the time. How fucking nice that woulda been. But it’s too damn easy to forget stuff or lose track of time when you’re stoned. I hate that. Plus, you know, I’m always―” Dean fucks up a chord and scoffs, looking down at what his hands are doing, replaying the complicated sequence with all his concentration. “I’m always busy,” he goes on, “so if I want to unwind I need to do it fast. Alcohol helps.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to pretend that what you’re saying now isn’t worrying,” Mike says, but when Dean looks up he’s wearing a soft, content smile, looking at Dean. “But I’ve stood by one addict and I’d do it again.”</p>
<p>“You talking about Nick’s heroin addiction?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. He told you about that already?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. When he set up rule number one, no drugs in the house. He promised me to do an intervention if I ever slipped down that track. Was he for real?”</p>
<p>Mike’s smile turns bemused. “‘Promised’? Not threatened?”</p>
<p>“Dude. If I fuck up that bad, I’d want someone to intervene. I doubt anyone would, but it’s a nice thought. That someone would care enough to invest the energy.”</p>
<p>Mike’s smile remains in place but his eyes turn sad. “If Nick said he would, he will. So would Gabe and I. But we won’t intervene at the first or even second stage. It wouldn’t work. You and Nick are far too alike, I think.”</p>
<p>“Gods, I hope not,” Dean deadpans.</p>
<p>“He’s a mess but he’s a really good person, Dean,” Mike hurries to assure.</p>
<p>
  <em>Yeah. Except I was talking about me. I always fucking leave, Mike. </em>
</p>
<p>“Alright.”</p>
<p>“Can I ask you something? Why did you allow Nick to come to watch you work, but not me?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers and shakes his head. “I didn’t. I explicitly told him not to come. He laughed at me and said, ‘It’s like you don’t even know me,’ then he just showed up. Believe me.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles, looking relieved. “Oh, I’ll believe that. Could you sing something for me?”</p>
<p>“I― No. Not today. I’m sorry. I’m not ready for that yet.”</p>
<p>“Come on. One song,” Mike pleads. “I don’t care if you don’t think you’re good enough. I’ll love it either way.”</p>
<p>Dean shakes his head, anxiety twisting and growing in his belly while his smile remains glued in place. Mike’s too handsome, too good, too fucking perfect. Dean too often feels like trash in comparison. It’s one thing to perform in front of strangers, but to perform in front of someone he wants to be respected and admired by, something else entirely. Especially when it comes to something so close to his heart. The very idea of seeing Mike’s eye muscles disengage and turn Mike’s smile and possible praise fake makes Dean nauseous. “Maybe some other time.”</p>
<p>“Please. Just one song. I gave you a guitar. It isn’t too much to ask in return, is it? One song. Or part of one,” Mike persists.</p>
<p>Dean’s pulse starts to race. He plays a few chords of ‘Under Pressure,’ by Queen and David Bowie in a silent plea for Mike to back off. But Mike still looks at him, hopeful and pleading. “I thought she was a gift,” Dean says instead. He knows all gifts come with strings attached. He <em>knows</em> that. He’d hoped sex would be enough. He still hasn’t figured out what Nick’s after, but with Mike it had appeared fairly straightforward. A win-win.</p>
<p>“It is. Please, Dean. Just a small part of a song.” Dean recognizes the chords Mike’s playing. One of Dean’s girlfriends was super into The Smiths. They have a song titled, ‘Please, please, please, let me get what I want,’ and Mike’s fucking playing it.</p>
<p>Dean drops his smile, puts the guitar down on the floor beside the couch, pulls up a leg to his chest, and wraps his arms around it, looking forward at the dark TV-screen. “I don’t want to.” Mike puts his guitar down on the living room table and slides over to Dean, warm and firm along Dean’s side. His arm comes to rest around Dean’s shoulders, then he leans in to kiss along Dean’s neck. Dean closes his eyes and tips his head to the side to give Mike better access. “Maybe some other time, okay? Not now. I don’t feel up to singing right now,” he says, suddenly guilty. It isn’t a huge thing to ask. Just one fucking song. He could do it. He <em>could</em>. Mike simply doesn’t get how fucking intimidating he is to Dean.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Mike answers and finds that spot below Dean’s ear that melts Dean’s brain. “Some other time.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Mike answers and bites Dean’s neck, wet and soft, raising the small hairs on Dean’s body.</p>
<p>Dean lets go of his leg and twists around to kiss Mike, relieved.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dean lies awake for a good thirty minutes, Mike’s soft sleep-breaths tickling the nape of his neck. One of Mike’s arms is slung around Dean’s chest. Dean’s intertwined their fingers and holds Mike’s hand to his chest. He wishes he could sleep like this every night. It doesn’t have to be with Mike, but he wouldn’t complain if it was. Anxiety is going haywire under his sternum. He’s restless and exhausted. Thoughts whirl from one thing to another.</p>
<p>Mike’s a fucking drug. If Nick should do an intervention, it should be about Mike. This week Dean’s thought to himself several times that he should break off the sexual part of the relationship, but keep going on dates to see where it could lead. There’s something there. Something terrifying. Almost as scary as Nick’s promise of a fixed home for two years or more. But any time Mike touches him, his defenses break and he’s fucking helpless to resist. How many times has Mike backed him into a corner now?</p>
<p>It’s not like Dean’s mad at him for doing so. He <em>likes</em> Mike. Mostly, what they want coincides. Like that damn quickie in the bathroom at the party. Physically, he really wanted it, or Mike would never have managed to talk him into it. But he didn’t want to do something hurtful to someone with whom he was intimate with, which is why he said no in the first place. He doesn’t want to be one of those lowlifes that treat girls like cumdumps without value. Not only had Mike managed to talk him into it, he’d also thrown him under the bus with that damned hickey.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck. I’m gonna have to sing for him. He’s gonna talk me into it.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Man up, Winchester. You can do it. You sang with Nick and it went well. Nick’s a great artist too. What’s the fucking difference?</em>
</p>
<p>What is the difference?</p>
<p>Dean lies trying to pinpoint it for a long time. He’d been too nervous to sing in front of Nick too and Nick forced the situation.</p>
<p>Yet, tonight felt worlds apart from what Nick did.</p>
<p>When Dean spotted ‘Lucifer’ at the karaoke he’d wanted to run off-stage and hide.</p>
<p>What’s so different? Aside from Mike being the most musically gifted person Dean’s ever met in real life, that is. Nearly perfect in all aspects, to a degree that Dean feels inferior from the get-go.</p>
<p>
  <em>But that’s not it, is it?</em>
</p>
<p>Nick didn’t demand that Dean perform for him like a fucking dancing monkey. He stepped up on that scene and took the lead, and they did it together. He knew Dean didn’t want to sing in front of him, same as Mike, so instead, he made them share the experience.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hell, I’d say he went up there to sing to me, more than anything else. Mike wants me to give him what he wants yet he’s lying to me.</em>
</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t like to think about the lying part, so usually, he doesn’t. He lets his thoughts skid off that part of the brain that registers Mike’s lying tells. He pretends that he believes Mike when Mike says he’s fine with this being casual, that he isn’t jealous, that he wants them to be an item for ‘practical’ reasons. But he’s not stupid. This isn’t his first time around the block.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck fuck fuck. I’m not ready to be tied down.</em>
</p>
<p>For a short moment, he feels like rolling out of bed, going down to the street and hop into his car and drive, not stopping until he’s five states away.</p>
<p>He swallows down the lump of panic and hugs Mike’s arm closer to his chest. Make hums contentedly in his sleep.</p>
<p>Dean wishes the thought of a real relationship didn’t set off panic. It’s not even about sex, he’s just not ready to go the mile yet. But damn, he <em>really</em> likes Mike.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dean’s alarm rings way too early. Dean groans and wishes for a few more minutes or hours of sleep.</p>
<p>“What time is it?” Mike mumbles.</p>
<p>“Five fifteen. I gotta get ready to leave.”</p>
<p>“So early?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Sam wants to go to the gym every morning before school so we’re going with Steve,” Dean says and frees himself from the perfect embrace and sits up, rubbing his grainy eyes.</p>
<p>“If Steve’s going you can sleep in. He can make sure Sam gets to class in time.”</p>
<p>Dean sighs. “Yeah… Technically. But In about a week Steve starts working and I’ll have to take over. I have to get the routine settled in my internal clock. Plus, going to the gym sucks and I like it better if there are more people going. And gym time means a lot to Steve. We’ve frequently roped him into playing drums with us which he isn’t a fan of. It’s only fair to give back.”</p>
<p>Mike sits up and stretches. “Alright. I’m coming with you. Do we have time for coffee first?”</p>
<p>“Babe, you don’t have to.”</p>
<p>Mike gives him a drowsy smile. “It’s no bother. I like going to the gym. Especially if it means spending another hour with you.”</p>
<p>“In that case, yeah. There’s always time for coffee,” Dean says with a small, pleasant thrill in his belly. That’s the kind of shit he’d tried to explain to Sam as romantic.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Bringing Mike to the gym is both a brilliant and awful move. Brilliant, because it’s way more fun together with three gym guys. Awful because it’s so hard to take his eyes off Mike dressed in a tanktop and shorts, glistening with sweat, running on the treadmill. Dean could build his whole sexuality around Mike’s fucking arms. Dean’s using a machine to help build shoulder-, arm- and chest muscles and Mike’s right in his line of sight. He tries not to stare. One would think that one would get used to the sight, seeing as they were naked in bed together roughly an hour ago, but no. For the millionth time, he wonders why they’re creeping. It made sense when they still thought Sam would be hurt by it but Sam’s acting like a fucking fangirl on Tumblr, swooning over his favorite ship. And, yes, Dean’s got a Tumblr blog. Most of it dedicated to reblogging his fave pornblog gifs. He wishes he had a gif or ten of Mike running on the treadmill.</p>
<p>He doesn’t get the point of gyms. It’s not exerting his body that bothers him, it’s the pointlessness of doing so. He can spend all day carrying heavy stuff, or run a mile to get somewhere. When he was a cheerleader they’d worked their asses off, but they were practicing for something, and that made all the difference to Dean.</p>
<p>He tries to focus on Mike’s flaws or he might think himself into a sad lump just like Sam.</p>
<p>Yesterday evening for instance.</p>
<p>
  <em>”You can be rougher, you know?” Dean said, looking up into Mike’s gorgeous hazel-green eyes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Do I have to be?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Nah, babe, not if you don’t want to,” Dean answered with a dismissive smile.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s not really in my nature to be,” Mike said uncertainly.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Then don’t be.”</em>
</p>
<p>Dean snorts at himself.</p>
<p>
  <em>Great. That’s it? That’s the flaw I can find? Him not being forceful enough? Come on. I can do better than that.</em>
</p>
<p>Except he can’t. The dude’s fucking goddamn perfect.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Outing people at their workplace is, of course, never okay, and could have serious consequences. I don't know if it was made clear enough that Mike and Dean have already talked enough that Dean knows that Mike isn't afraid of being out at work and that his employer already knows. I very much doubt he'd act as he did otherwise, but we'll never know. </p>
<p>Mike being pushy... that <i>is</i> out of character for him. He's not deliberately being a fuckboy. I don't think he understands exactly how badly he's behaving. He's too blinded by his own feelings. It's currently an obstacle, just like the lies are. Naturally, that obstacle will be overcome eventually.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick's used to being the problem child of the family. Yey, somehow, something's happened since the Winchesters came into his life. Situations that earlier would've made him have a meltdown, don't trigger the same reaction as they used to. And he takes Chuck's advice; to talk, to make the boys in his care talk. It's tough.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Mentions of past drug abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Life sure is different since the boys moved in. Yesterday the house had been invaded by a swarm of partying youngsters again. Steve had asked if his friends could come over and Nick answered that they damn well could bring their own booze this time because he wasn’t a fucking open bar. So they did. Nick came home from work to instantly get a Bacardi Breezer shoved into his hand by Ennis. There were at least fifteen people there, most which Nick had never met. Nick went and made sure that the music room was locked, then locked his and Dean’s bedrooms as well before he settled in to enjoy himself. Sadly, no Sam.</p>
<p>Today Gabe and Mike are coming over in the evening. They’re not set to rehearse until tomorrow, Sunday, so Dean can participate, but the brothers can’t go too long without each other’s company.</p>
<p>Nick woke up to Dean cleaning and had an argument with him about cleaning up after yesterday’s party. He managed to chase Dean into his room, and it wasn’t until later when he discovered that the utensils drawer had been meticulously sorted and stacked, that he realized Dean might be OCD-ing over something rather than just cleaning. He went to check on Dean but heard him playing guitar through the door and decided to leave the guy alone since he’d redirected his energy to something healthier.</p>
<p>Now Nick’s out hunting gigs. He’s scored them a few other performances at Anchor around the holidays and a preliminary booking for the next summer. He’s also got offers from other pubs, but he needs to discuss them with his brothers before he can accept.</p>
<p>He stops his motorbike at a red light. While he stands there waiting he throws a glance down the crossing street. A far off he spots a familiar shape. Sam’s far away enough that it’s hard to tell with a 100% certainty that it’s him, but the figure is similar enough for Nick to turn onto that street and go towards him. Besides, Sam looks like he’s waiting for someone. Maybe he’s called a cab or something. Nick can drive him and save him money.</p>
<p>The street is dug up for repairs so the pace is abysmally slow, only a few cars getting to pass at a time. In the distance, Nick sees a car slow down and roll up to the curb alongside Sam. Sam walks up to it and leans forward to the window, supporting himself on the car door. Something about how Sam’s standing―the curvature of his spine, one leg bent in front of the other, the other straight behind him, makes Nick’s pulse race. Sam talks to the driver then gets into the car’s passenger seat. The car does a U-turn and drives away.</p>
<p>In near panic, Nick drives onto the curb to bypass the construction site and chase after the car.</p>
<p>A few minutes later the car stops in a near-deserted area. Sam and a man in his 40s get out and walk into a narrow alley. Nick’s been keeping his distance. Now he parks close to the car and follows on foot.</p>
<p>It’s a dead-end alley with a large dumpster in it. Sam’s barely visible behind the dumpster. He’s on his knees.</p>
<p>Nick sees red. His pulse is so loud in his ears he barely hears anything else as he strides into the alley and rounds the container. He grabs Sam by the collar and tears him off the guy with a wet pop so Sam falls over backwards. The john hasn’t got a chance to react before Nick’s fist connects with his head. The guy flies back onto the wall and crumbles.</p>
<p>Nick turns around, spots Sam curled in on himself, staring up at Nick with terrified eyes, not making a single move to run or defend himself. “Get up. You’re coming with me,” Nick says, loud enough to be heard through the helmet, and bends down to grab Sam by the arm to yank him up. He hauls Sam back to his bike, straddles it, and points sharply behind himself. “Get on.”</p>
<p>Sam obeys with a frightened expression. Nick drives off. He’s still too angry to enjoy the fact that Sam’s holding onto him, slick against his back. He’s yet to decide where he’s going, but little by little he starts to calm down. An idea begins to form. He’s still upset when he stops the motorcycle outside of a large store, but thinking a tad bit more clearly.</p>
<p>Nick gets off the bike, takes off his helmet, and hands it to Sam. "You wait here. If you've moved one inch from the bike, I'm calling Dean and telling him everything," he threatens. Sam's mouth is a thin, worried line, puppy eyes scared and sad. He nods and hugs the helmet to his chest.</p>
<p>Nick strides into the store and tries to be as quick as he can about the mission, his gut crawling with fear that Sam will be nowhere to be found when he gets back. It still takes a full fifteen minutes. Sam’s still standing leaned against the bike when he comes out, still hugging the helmet, lip wobbling, blinking repeatedly at the ground.</p>
<p>It’s a gut-punch of guilt.</p>
<p>Nick pretends not to notice Sam’s state of mind when he walks up to Sam. “Put the helmet on,” he orders and takes the new backpack off his shoulders.</p>
<p>Sam looks up. “What about you?”</p>
<p>“Darling, you’re the most precious cargo I’ve ever had. I’ll drive carefully, but you’ll wear the helmet.”</p>
<p>“Okay…”</p>
<p>Sam puts the helmet on and Nick holds the backpack out, wordlessly ordering him to put it on, then, when Sam’s slid his arms through the loops Nick spins him around to fasten the chest and belly band. Nick straddles his bike and Sam gets on without a question.</p>
<p>Nick drives. He drives past his house and further up the road, takes a right onto a dirt road and stays on it for a good ten minutes until they reach a series of pastures. Until Dean decided to be an overly-social little bitch, Nick had never spoken to the owners of these pastures. They belong to his neighbors' kid’s inlaws, that live even further up this road and have a stable with four horses that are currently in a pasture next to the stable. They’d been around when Dean had lured Nick and Steve into helping the neighbors build their porch.</p>
<p>Nick parks the bike next to the dirt road and dismounts. He removes the helmet from Sam, hangs it on the handlebar, then beckons him to follow, climbing over the wooden fence. “Watch out for horse shit. It wasn’t that long ago since they moved the horses,” he says and leads the way to the middle of the pasture. The grass is fairly short, and a lot less coarse than his own lawn that Dean’s tending habitually like a house gnome and cursing over, saying they should just tear it up and replant it. Years of letting it grow wild had marred its quality.</p>
<p>Nick unclips the backpack from Sam, removes it, and opens it. He takes out a cheap picnic blanket and spreads it on a softish-looking spot and gestures for Sam to sit down. Tensely, Sam does, looking at Nick with worried eyes.</p>
<p>Nick pops himself down beside him and busies himself with unpacking the backpack. Champagne with plastic champagne flutes, a cheese platter, fruits and berries, a platter with different types of salamis and other sausages, chocolate. “How much money do you need?” he asks without looking at Sam.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“How much money do you need? I blew most of my savings on Steve and Dean, but I feel confident in saying Dean will hand over what he can from his paycheck and I don’t need to collect rent from him. Or, if you can’t wait, I’ll have a talk with Mike and Gabe, and we’ll sort it out,” Nick says and opens the champagne with a careful ‘fzzz’, pouring two flutes, one for each of them.</p>
<p>“I don’t need money.”</p>
<p>Nick looks at him then and hands over one of the champagne flutes. “So why do you do it?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs.</p>
<p>“Do you like it? Is that it?” Sam doesn’t answer so Nick persists. “Are you selling yourself because it’s something you take pleasure out of and enjoy? Because if that’s it, then we need to change how you go about doing it. We need to figure out a way to vet your clients, find you a safe place to be, and make sure you’re safe while you― <em>Fuck!</em>” His voice chokes and he turns his head away, pressing a hand over his eyes to stop the sudden tears that threaten to spill. He takes several deep breaths to calm himself before he goes on. “I’m sorry, Sam. I want to kill every last person with my bare hands, who’s ever paid to abuse your body for sex. I find it very hard to believe that you enjoy it. I personally believe you don’t know anything else, and you’re really doing it as a form of self-harm. I remember you saying you didn’t want anyone to touch you ever again.”</p>
<p>Nick downs his champagne and refills it, needing a moment. Sam’s still quiet and Nick can’t fucking look at him lest he wakes the possessive beast inside. He takes a deep breath and goes on. “I could be wrong. Maybe you love it? I’ve known two sex workers that loved their jobs. But most sex workers I’ve been friends with, didn’t do it because they wanted to or enjoyed it. They, just like I, had had their relationship to sex destroyed by molestation and abuse, and didn’t know anything else.”</p>
<p>“You… You’ve been friends with sex workers?” Sam asks with something akin to wonder in his voice.</p>
<p>Nick turns his head to look at the overgrown sad and surprised puppy beside him, uncaring if Sam can see that his eyes are red and watery. “Of course. I’ve lived on the streets and been ping-ponged between the worst foster homes. The girl I had sex with that first time? I told you we were both living on the street at the time. She’d run away from a trafficking ring and she was fucking brainwashed, speaking sex fluently. I shared my food with her and she shared her body, thinking that was a normal transaction and she was required to. I didn’t know better and she was happy to be with someone her own age, that she was attracted to for a change.”</p>
<p>Nick looks away and goes on, “When I slipped into heavy drug addiction I got to know more people, women mostly, who financed their addiction by selling themselves. I told you, none of us look down on sex workers. I’ve never paid for sex, but I could. If it wasn’t for Mikey’s strict morals, I wouldn’t even care about the circumstances that got her into the trade.”</p>
<p>“What’s Mike got to do with it?”</p>
<p>Nick dries his eyes and smiles down at his champagne flute. “He’s got innate goodness, empathy, and compassion. His moral compass nearly always points the right way. Sure he can mess up sometimes. But overall, his sense of right and wrong is on point. My sense of right and wrong was shot to smithereens when I was a pre-schooler. I’ve always had a protective streak but it only extended to the innocent and helpless. When it came to other people I could be as bad as any of the people who’ve abused me. You know I harassed your big brother sexually that night you two were reunited on our gig?” he says and turns his head to look at Sam.</p>
<p>Sam gapes. “<em>What???</em>”</p>
<p>“Mhm. Yep. Cornered him in the toilet and boxed him in against the counter. I recognized him as a manipulative and dangerous bully. It was a matter of time before fists were gonna fly between us. But I thought, hey, he’s legal, and angry sex is way better than fighting. So I boxed him in, grabbed his hips, leaned over his back, and propositioned him. I didn’t back off until he said ‘no’ sharply. That’s where Mike comes in. I’m trash, but I don’t want to be. So I look at my siblings and what’s hurt them, and look at how they act, and try to emulate them. Mike’s made out of empathy. I’m not. I have so many thoughts and impulses that are wrong and bad. Little by little I’m internalizing better things, but it’s hard. Yet you wouldn’t even recognize me, if my younger self suddenly showed up here. Nick, the heroin addict, was a monster.”</p>
<p>“I can’t believe you propositioned Dean,” Sam says with an indignant scowl.</p>
<p>Nick laughs. “Believe it. I was drunk and dumb, and he meant nothing more than a problem to me then. It wasn’t until I found him sleeping in his car because he’d spent his last dime on getting Kali off Gabe’s back, that I started seeing him as the victim he is. He and I are more alike than I’d like to think about.”</p>
<p>“Have you two slept together?”</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head. “No. We won’t. Sex the way I proposed to your brother was about power and anger. I care about him now. I don’t want to use it as an alternative method to destroy him. Which is what I proposed.” He holds up his champagne flute and looks at it. “You know I like you more than I should, darling. I don’t want to hurt you. Fucking Dean would hurt you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but you still propositioned him,” Sam grumps looking down at the champagne flute untouched in his hand.</p>
<p>Nick grins. It’s a relief that Sam’s recuperated enough to be petulant about Dean. Nick’s lying his ass off. Of course he’d fuck Dean if the circumstances were wrong enough. He doesn’t want to step over that line, but he could. Enough alcohol and stupidity and the company of a self-proclaimed shameless bottom, it could happen. “Remember that night I walked you home to your motel room?”</p>
<p>“That night you said you were going to deny remembering?”</p>
<p>“Exactly. It never happened,” Nick jokes. “But that night you said you liked romantic stuff. I don’t know how to do romance. But I planned to take you to the park not far from the docks and have a picnic. We’d drink champagne, flirt a little, and talk. I blew it, using that card now instead. It isn’t romantic because the fucking situation messed it up. But I told you I wanted us to get to know each other better and work on our issues before anything could happen. So, that’s why I’m telling you about Dean. After all, honesty and communication are the keys to any good relationship.” He barely keeps from wincing, hearing himself speak. He sounds like he’s awkwardly quoting someone else. Which he is, by all means, but that’s not the point.</p>
<p>Sam’s sulky expression smooths out. He smiles tentatively. “I guess.”</p>
<p>“So why are you turning tricks if you don’t need money?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs. “I don’t know.”</p>
<p>Nick’s silent for a bit, leaving a gap for Sam to elaborate. When Sam doesn’t, Nick holds his flute towards Sam for a toast. Sam clicks their plastic glasses together with a questioning expression and takes a sip. “I’ve got a very complicated relationship to drugs of all kinds,” Nick says after taking a sip of his own. “I started early. Like most kids like us, I struggled with depression, but unlike you and my siblings, my depression manifested as rage. I was constantly angry at everything. It took very little for me to explode into violence.”</p>
<p>“It still doesn’t take much,” Sam remarks.</p>
<p>“True. But teenager I wouldn’t just have decked your john and hauled you away, he would’ve kept kicking, aiming for the head, and <em>then</em> hauled you away. It’s possible he might even have hit <em>you</em>, in a fit of jealousy and worry turned relief turned to anger. Believe me, these days I’m calmer than a fucking Buddhist monk in comparison. Drugs could put a lid on all those feelings I had inside. I was addicted to the relief from all the anxiety, self-hate, and anger, long before I got addicted to an actual drug. I’m sure I could still do some drugs occasionally without falling off the wagon. The problem is that it would require consorting with stoners and other druggies, and I’m convinced the reason I’ve managed to stay sober is the company I keep.”</p>
<p>“What’s it like, doing heroin?” Sam asks curiously. “You never read about that in books. It’s just about how awful the consequences are.”</p>
<p>Nick downs his second glass of champagne, refills it, then pushes the snack platters towards Sam. “At first, there’s euphoria, safety, and warmth. Even if you’re outdoors in the cold it’s like you’re embedded in warmth. You feel like there isn’t a care in the world. You can be hit with nausea too, and it happened to me frequently enough that I often made sure I had something to throw up in around me. But the euphoric feeling was better than anything I’ve ever felt before or after. That part of the high doesn’t last that long, but when it fades, it sort of feels like you’re sleeping while you’re awake. The whole not-a-care-in-the-world feeling remains for hours and that’s what had me hooked. It felt nice not to care. Just be mellow and sleepy and actually like people for a change.”</p>
<p>Sam pulls the cheese platter towards himself and picks out a small cheese, popping it into his mouth and giving Nick his whole, open interest.</p>
<p>“It turned sour pretty fast. Heroin is a cheap drug at first. But then you build up tolerance real quick and need higher doses to get the effect. Suddenly it’s fucking expensive. And the withdrawals are fucking horrible. I needed to score just to keep them at bay.” Nick sighs. “It’s years since I last shot up and I can still get that sucking feeling of want under the sternum, thinking about the high.”</p>
<p>“Shot up? I thought chasing the dragon meant smoking?”</p>
<p>Nick shrugs with a sad smile. “We started out smoking it. But switched to injecting soon before my family did an intervention. I remember how damned in love I was with Aze, and how romantic I found it when he put the tourniquet on my arm and injected me, looking deep in my eyes as he pushed the drug in slowly.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound romantic at all,” Sam states.</p>
<p>“Clearly, you’ve never been a wayward teenager in love with the wrong person,” Nick jokes dryly.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles and looks at his lap. “Yeah, okay…”</p>
<p>“Why are you turning tricks, Sam?” Nick tries again with a soft voice.</p>
<p>Sam hesitates and shifts uncomfortably. He drinks his glass dry and lets Nick refill it, then takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I swear I don’t. I tell myself I won’t do it. And, and, and it’s fine, you know? The schedule Dean’s set up, the company, the everything… it’s, it’s working. But then, I end up feeling this weird panic when emotions get overwhelming. And I just want things to go back to normal, right? And I go out to prove to myself I can fix it. And sometimes, it, it almost feels like normal, right? But then afterward I feel awful and dirty and like I never want anyone to touch me ever again. Then I feel weak and dumb and promise myself I’ll never do it again,” he confesses with a lot of hand gesturing.</p>
<p>“It can never go back to normal because it wasn’t normal to begin with, and you’ve started to understand that.”</p>
<p>Sam makes a frustrated noise and pops a piece of salami in his mouth. He chews and covers his mouth with a hand when he speaks. “It’s just so annoying. I’m good at sex. But it’s only recently I’ve started to enjoy it for myself. I never used to have, like, <em>urges</em>. I didn’t see the point of masturbating. I had this, this, this switch in my brain that would automatically flip when I had sex and it made me detached, right? It’s no longer working properly. Now the only person I can have sex with and know I won’t feel bad about doing it with, is Steve. And with him, I don’t need the switch to work.”</p>
<p>“Ah, the wonders of love, trust, and equality,” Nick muses with a smile and feels like screaming out of jealousy. “Does it bother you that he’s sleeping with someone else?”</p>
<p>“No. Not at all. I’m happy for him,” Sam says earnestly.</p>
<p>“Good. Then you’re coming home with me. We’re barbecuing tonight. Dean and Steve built a barbecue and we damn well are going to use it. But Steve’s date is coming as well.”</p>
<p>“That’s nice,” Sam says, looking like he means it.</p>
<p>“Tell me, when you get the impulse to go out and, hmm, try to restore normalcy,” Nick says, choosing his words carefully, “Is there something in particular that triggers the need for it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I mean, today, I know what set it off. But usually it just hits.”</p>
<p>“What happened today?” Nick feels like a damn therapist drawing out details. He’s reached his limit for how much crap he can hear about someone he loves, but hides it in case Sam would clam up when he’s finally talking.</p>
<p>“I, uh, I saw Claire. She took off running. She thought I would hurt her because of the money thing. Like, I’m not gonna give her any more money, but I like her. I could barely be as rough with her as she wanted when we had sex, so I’m definitely not gonna hurt her. But I chased her down and got her cornered against a wall. And, and, she was afraid of me, right? I held her by the shoulders and asked if she was alright. And she said she didn’t have my money. I told her I didn’t care about the money, I’m worried about <em>her</em>. And it was like she couldn’t understand why.” Sam drags a hand through his hair with a grimace. “Eventually she calmed down and we had a cup of coffee at a nearby café. But when I left it was like a truck suddenly rammed me in the chest. And I went to try to flip that switch, if you know what I mean?”</p>
<p>“I do. It makes sense. Are you seeing her again?”</p>
<p>“Probably, yeah,” Sam admits. “I got her new phone number.”</p>
<p>“Mh,” Nick hums. He isn’t happy about it because if nobody intervenes Claire’s going to go down the same rabbit hole as Nick had, but with a worse outcome, and it’s going to affect Sam. But he <em>is</em> happy hearing she’s still alive. There’s still hope for her as long as she’s alive. “Which is your favorite?” he asks and points at the meat platter, switching the topic to something more light-hearted.</p>
<p>They probably could go on talking about sensitive subjects, and if Sam does, Nick won’t stop him. But he’s afraid it’s going to get too much for both of them if he keeps pushing. They’ve got time. For now, they can just talk about nonsense until Nick doesn’t feel like crying and throwing up anymore.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It’s almost 4 o’clock in the morning and Nick really should be sleeping. At first it was thoughts of Sam keeping him awake, but since the clock passed Dean's regular homecoming time with no Dean showing up, it had switched into worrying about the older Winchester instead.</p>
<p>His phone screen lights up the darkness with an incoming text. Thinking it's Dean, Nick reaches for the phone.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean:</b> I can't come home tonight.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick frowns and calls Dean straight away.</p>
<p>"Hey, babe. S'up?" Dean answers. It's in his voice - the slight difference in cadence, and Nick's tipped off, turning his belly in knots.</p>
<p>"What do you mean you can't come home?" Nick accuses.</p>
<p>"Um. It's because of...rule number one," Dean answers haltingly. His voice is mellowed. In the background, there are people giggling. A slight wind distorts the sound, telling Nick that Dean's outdoors.</p>
<p>"Where are you sleeping?” Nick demands.</p>
<p>“I’ve got my car parked at work,” Dean answers.</p>
<p>“You’re not sleeping in your car,” Nick deadpans with a deep scowl.</p>
<p>“It’s not a problem. I’m used to it,” Dean assures.</p>
<p>Nick sits up in bed and reaches out to turn the bedside lamp on. “You’re <em>not</em> sleeping in your car,” he says with a stern voice.</p>
<p>“Babe, <em>please</em>. Don’t make a fuss. I did what you asked and texted you so you don’t have to worry. But I don’t feel like hooking up with someone just to get a bed. Not tonight. Please don’t force me to fuck somebody. I’m having a good time.”</p>
<p>Nausea has never struck so quickly. Aside from Dean’s throwaway comment about perpetual sadness and crippling anxiety, one rarely actually sees Dean’s anxiety and now Dean’s voice is ladened with sudden angst. Nick throws the blanket aside and slings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Of course not, darling. Where are you?”</p>
<p>“At the docks. You know where the statue of John Muir is located?”</p>
<p>“Yes. That’s not far from where you work, right?” Nick asks, already knowing the answer as he stands up and goes to the chair where he threw his clothes when he undressed. Ever so often Dean would poke his head in to say something to him, spot his laundry pile and stare judgingly at it. The first time he’d done it he’d remarked that he washes everything <em>in the hamper</em>, then wandered off in a huff. That’s the only time he’s mentioned it, though.</p>
<p>“Nope,” Dean answers, popping the P.</p>
<p>“Good. Stay where you are and keep having a good time,” Nick says and hangs up to dress himself.</p>
<p>45 minutes later he parks his motorbike and removes his helmet not far from where Dean’s sitting with a group of people, dangling their legs over the edge of the docks. Nick hangs his helmet on the handlebar and walks towards the group, then stops. Dean lets out a booming laugh at something someone says, then takes a hit of the joint he’s holding, passing it off to the next person. Dean’s wearing a grey fedora hat, the muscles in his face relaxed, his smile easy.</p>
<p>“Dude. You got a problem or what?” A guy in the company asks Nick, having noticed Nick staring.</p>
<p>“I’m here to pick up my boy,” Nick answers.</p>
<p>Dean’s face snaps around with wide eyes when he hears Nick’s voice. His eye-whites are adorably red. And, yes, Nick’s measures for what accounts for as cute are skewed to high heavens. “Oh, shit. Babe? What are you doing here?” Dean says, smoothly pulling himself up and walking towards Nick.</p>
<p>“I’ve come to take you home, darling. You’re not sleeping in your car,” Nick answers and removes his backpack to take out his spare helmet. “You can put your new hat in this bag.”</p>
<p>Dean comes close enough to lean in for the customary kiss-greeting. Dean’s saliva tastes of weed. And if Nick can taste <em>that</em>, they both opened their mouths too much even if no tongues were involved. Nick’s tempted to pull Dean in and sweep Dean’s mouth for the taste, knowing full well it wouldn’t let him share the high.</p>
<p>“I can’t put it in the bag. I don’t wanna live in a backpack.”</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face in confusion. “What?”</p>
<p>Dean grins, then he sings, “~<em>Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my hooome</em>~” before sniggering.</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes and plucks the fedora from Dean’s head, putting it on himself. It’s a bit of a tight fit.</p>
<p>Dean has absolutely no pokerface whatsoever when he’s stoned. His face falls with a hitch of his breath. He stares at Nick as if he’s somewhere between shock and mourning, vulnerability written all over his face.</p>
<p>“If you wear the hat it will blow off and end up in a ditch roadside. I’ve already picked you up roadside once,” Nick says.</p>
<p>“But… Nicky, I’m, I’m… I’m pretty stoned. I can’t go home. The <em>rules</em>.”</p>
<p>Nick can’t decide if he wants to cry or slap Dean. He hooks his hand in Dean’s belt and pulls him close, then, almost brushing Dean’s ear with his lips, he sings softly, “<em>~Listen, baby, Ain't no mountain high, Ain't no valley low, Ain't no river wide enough, baby...~</em>” He pushes Dean away and holds up the spare helmet. “We’ll talk about the rules later, because there’s no circumstance when you’re not welcome home, Darling. Now, you’re going to say goodbye to your friends, and put this helmet on. I’ll put your hat in the backpack and you’re going to wear it on your back while we ride. Do you understand?”</p>
<p>Dean almost looks scared. Nick fucking hates how many times a week this asshole breaks his fucking heart. Dean’s so competent that he can fake it with the best of them. While Sam has behaviors that scream victim, Dean screams bully instead, but if you really listen and watch him, that falls apart.</p>
<p>“I saved you a pizza,” Nick adds. “It’s in the fridge at home.”</p>
<p>Dean reanimates. “Oh my god, you shoulda led in with that,” he jokes and winks, then turns to make his goodbyes.</p>
<p>There’s very little traffic this early a Sunday morning, but Nick drives extra carefully since he’s got precious cargo. Anytime he slows the bike down enough or stops at a red light he can hear Dean singing ‘Highway to the danger zone’ muffled by the helmet. In hindsight, it would’ve been smarter to take a car, or even a cab since he’s had a couple of beers, but he enjoys Dean’s arms wrapped around him almost as much as he enjoyed Sam’s.</p>
<p>Once they’re at home, Nick removes Dean’s helmet, the backpack, and hands Dean his hat. Dean’s looking at the cars in the parking lot. “Mike’s here.”</p>
<p>“Mhm. So is Sam.”</p>
<p>“Who’s that?” Dean asks and points at a Prius.</p>
<p>“That’s Steve’s hipster lay.”</p>
<p>“That’s my boy,” Dean purrs with a dopey smile and heavy eyelids. “The guy really hit the ground running, didn’t he? Coming out to everyone is pretty scary actually. Ain’t gonna pretend it didn’t hurt when some of ‘em reacted with disgust. It motherfucking did, okay? But when I did it, my friends were miles and miles away, already out of reach. And everyone he cares about is right here. But he was like, ‘I’m gay. Now, let’s get me some booty.’” He chuckles and shakes his head.</p>
<p>Nick grabs Dean by the wrist and tugs him along towards the house. “You’ve come out to all your friends? From everywhere you’ve lived?”</p>
<p>“Yup. Gotta know which ones are keepers.”</p>
<p>“That must’ve taken quite some time,” Nick states and opens the door, ushering Dean inside.</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>“You did it through email or something?” Nick asks, removes Dean’s jacket, hangs it up, then pushes him onto the bench in the hallway, and goes to a knee to untie Dean’s shoelaces.</p>
<p>Dean watches him with a bemused tilt to his head and a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Something like that, yeah.”</p>
<p>Nick removes Dean’s shoes, making him giggle, puts them on the shoe rack, then undresses his own outerwear. “Did you lose a lot of friends?”</p>
<p>“I have no clue, man. It made a bunch of people I like get back in touch, and some to spew foul language. But I don’t know if those who didn’t respond at all simply didn’t get the message, no longer cared, or mentally unfriended me.”</p>
<p>Nick grabs Dean by the wrists, pulls him up, then drags him along to the kitchen and to a chair. “Sit.” Dean sits down and Nick goes to the fridge to get the pizza. “You want me to heat it for you?” he asks turning around, then chuckles at Dean’s grabby hand gesture. “I’ll take that as a no.” He puts the pizza box in front of Dean then sits down opposite Dean to watch Dean dig into the cold pizza with the gusto only someone starved or with the munchies can muster. The pinkness of Dean’s scleras makes his eyes look unnaturally green. “Did it happen often? That John didn’t let you come home?”</p>
<p>Dean, currently with the greater part of a pizza slice chipmunked in his mouth, answers, barely covering his mouth while he speaks. “It happened. But only when I deserved it.”</p>
<p>“What did you have to do to deserve it?”</p>
<p>Dean shrugs. “I dunno. Miss my curfew? Or leaving home when I shouldn’t have? It wasn’t set in stone. Mostly he didn’t care, and since I’m a little shithead I gambled on the side of erring more often than not. But it’s no big deal. I was allowed to sleep in the car and he’d wake me up and let me come in for breakfast.”</p>
<p>Nick hums and tilts his head, scrunching his nose. “Did you think I wouldn’t let you come home because you’d smoked a joint?”</p>
<p>Dean shoves more pizza in his mouth and chews, he waits for a beat but doesn’t verbalize his answer, going for a shrug.</p>
<p>Nick sighs and pulls at his lip thoughtfully. “I remember telling you I wouldn’t get mad if you came home with the munchies once or twice a year. If you’re gonna do drugs, that’s going to be a problem for me. But this is your home now, darling. You belong to me. You know what that means?” He lets go of his lip to point at Dean. “It means that if you send me a text saying you’re sleeping at a friend’s place like you did this Thursday, I might feel grumpy, but if you text me and tell me you <em>can’t</em> come home, I’m coming to get you. I’m taking you home even if I have to scrape you off the ground and dislodge a needle from your vein.” He holds up his hands, palms out. “I’d be pissed if you slipped into heroin addiction. I’m not claiming I won’t be. Then we’d be two people living under the same roof fighting the same damned pull. That would lessen our chances of succeeding. But at no point would I forbid you from coming home. A home is the only safe space we have. Just be honest about what crap you’ve taken so I know.”</p>
<p>Dean stops chewing. For several seconds he looks like he’s about to cry. Then something switches inside of him. He sniggers, covers his mouth and swallows the pizza, then breaks into a giggle fit. He bends over laughing, nearly tipping off his chair. His hat falls off, landing on the floor. That cuts his laughter right off. He plucks the hat up and pops it on his head again. “I like this hat. It’s a shame wearing it means I suddenly have to believe people owe me sex for being nice to them, and have to use ‘actually’ at least four times every sentence. I’ve only owned it a couple of hours and I’ve got one hell of a backlog on my actuallies already,” he chuckles.</p>
<p>Nick smirks lopsidedly. “I bet you’ll backlog on demanding sex for niceties too.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Fuck that shit. I don’t know how many times sex mess things up anyway. Why do people have to make it so damn hard? It ain’t that hard to separate friendship and sex. It ain’t. But lo and behold,” he complains and goes back to stuffing his face with pizza.</p>
<p>“Mmh. Say, how come you decided to get high today?”</p>
<p>“Dunno. They offered.”</p>
<p>“Who are they?”</p>
<p>“Just a group of people who were at the bar. We had fun at the karaoke, they bought me a coupla drinks afterwards, and when the bar closed they invited me to join them hanging out on the docks and smoke a coupla joints. I felt like, maybe the sedation would last all day and it won’t be that bad? Like, I know it won’t last. I <em>know</em> that. But maybe, you know?”</p>
<p>“What is it that won’t be that bad if you’re sedated?” Nick asks. He has a disgusted feeling that he’s acting like a damn therapist, drawing shit out of Dean little by little, taking advantage of the slightly lessened filter. But both of them need sleep and neither is sleeping so Nick wants to know why.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna be forced to sing in front of Mike. He gave me a guitar, then said I had to sing for him to keep it. And you said you’ll be forcing me to sing with y’all today. Fuck, it’s freaking me the fuck out.”</p>
<p>Nick can’t help how much his eyes widen. There are so many things wrong with what Dean just said. Nick rubs a hand over his mouth trying to withhold a vehement string of curses. Dean appears happily oblivious of Nick’s reaction, intent on his quickly diminishing pizza. “Mike… gave you the black guitar… as a gift,” he says carefully. Mike had mentioned that he wanted to give Dean one of his guitars, so that’s no surprise.</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“He gave you a gift, and then said you had to sing to him… to keep it?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. I was of a mind to hand her right back but damn, she’s such a sweet girl. I want to keep her.”</p>
<p>Nick very much doubts Mike really meant it the way Dean took it. But if he did, Nick’s gonna have to haul him out back and kick his ass. “He can’t take back what’s already given, Dean. And yes, I will force you to sing with us. Eventually. But if you’re so nervous about it that you need to drug yourself to do it, then you’re not going to sing with us. Just play an instrument like you usually do. Fuck sake, Dean. How fucked up do you think I am?”</p>
<p>“Very?” Dean offers innocently, holds the innocent expression for two whole seconds before he succumbs to giggles, this time luring Nick to snigger along.</p>
<p>“Fair enough. You’re not wrong. But it’s supposed to be fun. If that’s how strongly you feel about it, you’re not singing. It’s that simple.”</p>
<p>“You sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes, darling, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>Dean lets out a deep breath, relaxing so hard he slides halfway off his chair, knees bumping into Nick’s. “Thank fuck.”</p>
<p>“So why don’t you want to sing in front of Mike? You’re a great singer. You need mic training and you could use some practice on your vocal runs, but you’ve got a pleasant voice and good control. I don’t see the problem,” Nick asks and gets up to fetch something for Dean to drink. Dean’s already devoured half the pizza and is bound to be thirsty.</p>
<p>“It’s just that… all of y’all are so good. And Mike’s fucking perfect, man. Like, all of him. He’s put together, has a respectable job that requires wearing a suit, he looks like a damn model, sings like a god, plays instruments super well… I feel like a sack of garbage next to him at the best of times. And, I dunno. Music has always been my passion. It’s okay that I ain’t as good as y’all at playing instruments. My chances to learn have been limited. I’ve got an excuse. But I’ve been singing all my fucking life, and comparing to him, I’m mediocre at best.”</p>
<p>There’s a lot to unpack in that rambling statement, but most prominently, “Mike? <em>Put together?</em>” Nick laughs. He comes back from the fridge with a soda, hands it to Dean and sits back down, still sniggering. “Dean, Mike took one look at your pretty face and forgot how to fucking speak properly. Mike’s got social anxiety so bad that some days he can’t even nip into the store to resupply his empty fridge. If he has to make a phone call he has to work up the courage for minutes, sweating so badly he needs to change his shirt afterward. He’s gotten better, but he’s <em>not</em> put together.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, he’s awesome. He makes me insecure about myself,” Dean mutters and opens the soda to drink half the bottle dry in one go.</p>
<p>Nick’s lips twitch in amusement. “Sooo… you’re into my brother, huh?” he says with a teasing tone.</p>
<p>Dean’s overall good mood is traded for a sour frown at the pizza. “Yeah. A bit. I’d be a happy man if he ended up in my bed every night he slept here. But I ain’t after anything serious right now, okay? I don’t want a boyfriend. And he’s driving me up the walls sometimes with his pushiness and lies. I just, no. I don’t need that kind of trouble in my life right now,” he says annoyedly and angrily shoves pizza into his mouth.</p>
<p>“This might sound like a stupid question, but, we’re talking about Mike, Michael Novak, my brother, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. The stupidly cute, hot, and charming asshole brother of yours,” Dean agrees.</p>
<p>“How long have you been fucking?” Nick hedges.</p>
<p>“We’re not,” Dean deadpans.</p>
<p>“That’s not what Mike says,” Nick teases.</p>
<p>It’s the wrong thing to say. Dean drops the pizza he’s holding and stares at Nick with wide, angry eyes, mouth a thin line, cheeks reddening and chest starting to heave. The reddening cheeks aren’t darkening from fluster, but barely controlled indignant anger. “Come again? You telling me he’s claimed we’ve had sex?”</p>
<p>Nick licks his lips nervously. There’s restrained violence in Dean’s eyes. If Mike and Dean haven’t had sex―something up until this very moment, Nick found hard to believe―he’s just made it sound like Mike walks around lying about sexual conquests he hasn’t had, and Dean would be right to be pissed off. “No,” Nick says. “He admitted he was the one who gave you the hickey. He said you’d made out before on a date, and that you were going on another date on Thursday, the night you didn’t come home. I jumped to conclusions and tried to fool you into admitting.”</p>
<p>“Sonnova bitch. So he’s allowed to tell y’all that we’ve made out, and I’m the only one with a gag order?” Dean asks rhetorically.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers, faking mirth as if he isn’t on high alert. Dean’s got good emotional control usually, but Nick’s never seen him high before, Mike’s sleeping upstairs and Dean’s got a gun. “No<em>o</em>. I jumped to conclusions and <em>managed</em> to fool him into admitting.”</p>
<p>Dean holds Nick’s gaze for a few more seconds before he relaxes and goes back to his pizza. “I don’t get why it has to be a secret anyway. I’d like to go on dates with Mike to see where it leads, maybe end up in bed on the regular. But I’m not anywhere near ready to go steady. Should I get a boyfriend or girlfriend right now, I’d end up cheating. Trust me. Nobody wants that. Least of all I. So since Mike’s in love with me, it’s a fucking problem.”</p>
<p>“He can’t help falling in love, Dean. You had him at fucking hello.”</p>
<p>Dean’s face split in a grin. “Gotcha. The fucker vehemently denies it, but I knew he was lying. And now you confirmed it.” He sniggers and shoves a big piece of pizza into his self-satisfied face. He points at Nick, covering his mouth with a hand. “And don’t you go all over-protective, giving me the ‘if you break my brother’s heart’ spiel. I can’t help if my feelings aren’t on the same level as his, okay?”</p>
<p>Nick leans his chin in his hand, supporting his head with his elbow on the table. “I won’t.” Right now Mike’s the one closer to being threatened. The things Dean’s let slip about Mike are the kind of shitty behaviors Mike usually scolds Nick for, and Nick needs to give Mike a good talking to for a change.</p>
<hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean puts his foot down with Mike, and Nick overhears. It has consequences.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter Warnings: Violence</p>
<p>Okay, I said to someone in the comments for the last chapter that we'd revisit Sam's therapy in this chapter. But I'm an optimist when it comes to how long scenes turn out to be, so it's coming in the next chapter. Sam's once again center stage the next chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Dean steps out of his bedroom rubbing his grainy eyes at the same time as Steve’s door opens. Dean turns to say good morning to Steve, even though it’s noon (Which means Dean got a whopping 3 and a half hours of sleep. Again. Yay.), but it isn’t Steve standing there blinking in confusion at him. It’s a tall, slim but fit, glasses-wearing guy about the same age as Dean. Dean gives him a slow once-over before his brain kicks into gear. “Hey, Steve! Nice pull!” he calls out.</p>
<p>“Fuck you, bro!” Steve calls back from his bedroom.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers and grins at the guy. “You go ahead and use the bathroom. I’ll go back and die in my bed for another hour,” he says, then turns around and walks back into his room, barely closing the door. He crashes on the bed headfirst into the pillow and remains in that position.</p>
<p>He needs to pee, but the urge isn't as intense as his wish to sleep. Nick carried him up the stairs at 8 o'clock this morning, pulled the comforter aside, and dumped him on the bed. That’s the second time Nick’s carried Dean’s 190 pounds up the stairs like it’s fucking nothing. Dean giggled like a fucking idiot while Nick undressed him down to his underwear and then tucked him in under the comforter. Nobody’s tucked him in since he was what? 7? 8? He hates how fucking vulnerable it makes him feel. He wonders if Sam ever felt that shook when Dean tucked him in. Probably not. Dean’s done it to him so many times, it’s normal. Dean’s tucked in girlfriends, one-night-stands, his lays’ kids, and even friends (but playfully, sniggering at their sputtering when he placed a goodnight kiss on their foreheads as if he did it in jest and wasn’t showing them his true affection).</p>
<p>Dean groans into the pillow and reminisces about what went down four hours ago.</p>
<p>
  <em>Nick turned and walked towards the door. “What? No goodnight kiss?” Dean joked, sniggering drowsily.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Nick turned on his heel, got onto the bed, and crawled over Dean like a fucking tiger intent on its prey, emanating boss-ass-bitch vibes Dean hadn’t seen in anyone since Aliyah in Detroit and Linn in Maine. Before he knew it, Nick boxed him in, lying down on top of him, licking his lips. Then he gave Dean the most boundary-pushing, filthy kiss to this date. No tongue. Well, barely any tongue. Just a hint of it. Enough to eradicate any innocence and spark craving. Nick pulled back with a smirk and stroked Dean over the hair. “Sleep well, sweetheart. And remember, you’re not allowed to sing with us this time. Sweet dreams,” he said and withdrew, getting off the bed.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Wow. That can never happen again,” Dean said with an awkwardly huffed laughter.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Then don’t invite it to happen, darling,” Nick smirked before leaving the room, closing the door after himself.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Dean lay staring at the color-shifting ceiling for several long seconds before he said, “Well, fuck,” pushed the comforter off his body and pulled his erection out of his boxers to take care of business.</em>
</p>
<p>He wishes life could be uncomplicated for once. Just one day, it’s all he’s asking. Is it too much to ask for?</p>
<p>He can’t lie still, no matter how badly he wants to sleep. He can hear the house make sounds of wakefulness. Pipes humming and clanks and creaks that means the inhabitants and guests have started the day. From the open window, he hears the distinct sound of Gabe’s car engine turning towards their parking lot then cut out. Muffled laughter from somewhere downstairs. The walls aren’t exactly thin per se, but the house is old, the inhabitants are loud, and Dean hadn’t closed his door properly when he retreated. He can’t sleep if everyone else is awake. That makes anxiety twist under his sternum as if he’s shirking duties.</p>
<p>He sighs, rolls out of bed, and goes to stand in front of the mirror. His eye-whites are still red. He’s got puffy, dark rings under his eyes and his skin is pasty. In other words, he looks like shit. He opens his bedside table drawer to grab his Visine bottle but stops, hand hovering in surprise. There’s a small gift wrapped in black, glossy paper with neon details, topped off with a silver bow in his drawer. He carefully takes it out and sits down on the bed. It’s light. There’s a small card with fireworks taped to the back; the kind you usually attached to flower bouquets. He peels the card off, opens it, and reads.</p>
<p>
  <tt>These made me think of you.<br/>Well. That came out wrong. But you’ll get the joke. Hopefully.<br/>Feel free to send me a pic if you use them.<br/>Your darling husband ;)</tt>
</p>
<p>It’s from Nick. Dean’s heart jumps in confusion. Why would Nick give him gifts? As if he hasn’t already given Dean the fucking world.</p>
<p>Dean puts the card aside and carefully opens the wrapper, keeping the gift hidden for as long as he can to heighten the suspense. He moves the wrapping aside and… promptly bursts into laughter. “The fuck, Nicky?” he says to himself, sniggering at the package of glow-in-the-dark condoms.</p>
<p>He gets up, closes and locks his door, pulls down the black roller blind for the first time since he moved in, shuts off all the lights except for his nightstand lamp, and reads the instructions. You’re supposed to hold the condom under a light for 30 seconds to a minute.</p>
<p>He removes his underwear and lies on the bed, closing his eyes while stroking himself thinking about Mike until he has an erection, letting one of the see-through-wrapped condoms lie under the lamp while he gets himself ready. Then he takes the condom and puts it on. It’s already glowing, but when he cuts the light and darkness descends it looks like he’s got a damn green lightsaber between his legs―the same color as the stars he glued to the ceiling as a kid. He can’t help giggling. It’s fucking ridiculous.</p>
<p>He turns on the light again and grabs his phone, ignoring all the notifications for now. He’s got 45 unread emails, a whole bunch of texts, and Instagram notifications. They’ll have to wait. He finds the Star Wars theme on Spotify and presses play, cuts the light, and opens Snapchat since Snapchat doesn’t cut off music while filming. He starts recording, slowly panning over his chest and down until his glowing dick comes into the frame. He swings it back and forth making lightsaber-noises until he bursts into giggles and has to stop recording.</p>
<p>He turns off the music, turns on the light, and watches the video, giggling even more. His room isn’t completely dark. Enough daylight escapes in through cracks to highlight the contours and dips of his body. It’s still a ridiculously funny video so he saves it on his phone.</p>
<p>Ever the practical guy, he jerks off quickly (Why waste a good erection?), then ties off the condom, throws it away, and puts on his underwear. He unlocks his door, opens it to a crack, and sends the video to Nick, then listens at the crack. Nick might be up and about. He might still be sleeping. He should’ve just waited to send it to when he knew Nick would notice. But he can see that Nick’s door is open. He holds his breath in suspense.</p>
<p>Then he hears it. Star Wars music coming from Nick’s bedroom. He giggles quietly to himself and bursts into laughter when he hears Nick start laughing. Gotta hand it to the guy, but he’s got classy humor.</p>
<p>Dean goes to take a shower, content with how the day started. He comes out of the bathroom freshly showered at the same time as Nick exits his bedroom. They share a look and both snigger conspiratorially before Dean slinks into his bedroom. He uses Visine in his eyes to get rid of the redness, then a cream he shoplifted to reduce the swelling under his eyes, topping it off with concealer to hide the sleep-bruised look. He’s not great with makeup, but he shoplifted a bunch of stuff he hasn’t had the guts to use yet. He adds a little bit of color under his lower eyelashes using a brown eye-pencil. That’s as far as he dares to go. He stares at himself in the mirror, trying to discern if it shows that he’s using makeup. He doesn’t think so.</p>
<p>
  <em>Yeah. That ought to do it. Nobody will see how little sleep I’m getting. Awesome.</em>
</p>
<p>With that, he gets dressed to face the day.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“No! The hell it is. It’s not fucking okay!”</p>
<p>Nick hears the argument when he goes outside to throw away the garbage. Inside, Sam, Steve, Gabe, and Ryan, Steve’s hipster date, are talking loudly making a ruckus over lunch/whatever you want to call the 3 o’clock meal of hungover youngsters.</p>
<p>Dean’s voice comes from behind the house and he sounds <em>pissed</em>.</p>
<p>“But, Dean, I thought he already knew. He made it sound like you’d already told him,” Mike pleads.</p>
<p>“Don’t you, ‘but, Dean’ me. It doesn’t fucking matter. If you’ve agreed to lie about something, you lie. Like the fucking Shaggy song. ‘It wasn’t me!’ It doesn’t matter if they know already, gaslighting is a thing. And if you slip up you fucking call me and let me know.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that big of a deal,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“No. It’s a huge deal, Mike. I didn’t want to lie in the first place. The reason you gave, that it would hurt Sam, that’s an acceptable reason. But he’s trying to play matchmaker as soon as we’re in the same room together so that reason goes down the drain. I don’t <em>want</em> to lie, dammit! If I was allowed to be honest, I could tell him it’s casual so he doesn’t get his hopes up. It’s not like I’m going to paint him a vivid picture of how you fuck me over any flat surface as soon as we’re alone together. It’s not just that. You think it’s just about confirming or denying? It’s not. It’s the difference between making up plausible lies to Nick and Steve when I’m not sleeping at home, of not getting to tell people that we went on an awesome date and listened to kickass music or whatever. I’ve got to make a lie out of every stretch of time spent alone with you. <em>I fucking hate it.</em> But, fine. It seemed important to you. So I agreed. Then I find out <em>you’re</em> the one blabbing and I’m the only one with a gag order? I’m so not okay with that.”</p>
<p>Nick covers his mouth with a hand, straining his ears and sneaking closer to the corner of the wall. While he’d talked with Dean about this Dean had convinced him Mike was telling the truth about them not fucking. But this paints another picture entirely.</p>
<p>“I slipped up, Dean. I’m sorry,” Mike pleads.</p>
<p>“Look. I get that I overstepped at your work. I get that. And maybe I was doing it a bit out of bitterness. But in my defense I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t already told me you were out to most of your co-workers, your bosses, and that the place is LGBT friendly. But I’ve been too much of a dumbass to ever understand that I should be in the closet, and now I don’t want to be. You’re making me feel like something the cat dragged in―”</p>
<p>“That’s not true! I―”</p>
<p>“<em>Shut up!</em> I’m telling you how I fucking feel, Mike. This ain’t up for debate. I get that I’m not up to par with your usual standard. Hell, Alex was a damn catch. Like, that’s the type of person you <em>should</em> be dating. I’m not even trailer trash because at least those people have homes and I haven’t even had that. But I’ve got a pretty face and can fake all-American masculinity with the best of them. Why the fuck are you hiding me? The lies are hurting me, Mike. You’re hurting me.”</p>
<p>Nick’s impressed. He’d told Sam that honesty and communication are the keys to any relationship and Dean’s showing that he’s great at those two things when he wants to be.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Dean. I never meant to hurt you in any way. I care about you. Deeply. Of course you’re up to my standards,” Mike says mournfully.</p>
<p>Nick risks a peek around the corner. Neither Mike nor Dean spots him, too intent on each other. Dean’s got his arms crossed over his chest, facing off with Mike who has his tail between his legs.</p>
<p>“Then why are you ashamed of me? Why hide me? I may be brought up in the gutter, and yes, I’m a thief. But I’m loyal and useful and I can adapt. You need me to shape up? Wear frou-frou suits and stop cussing? Tell me what you want from me, Mike.”</p>
<p>Nick pulls back. Dean’s breaking his fucking heart all over again. ‘I’m useful.’ That’s how he chooses to describe himself when listing his positive sides. <em>Useful</em>. John Winchester might never have touched Dean sexually but he sure fucked Dean over just as hard as he ever did Sam.</p>
<p>Mike’s voice is soft and cajoling. “You’re perfect the way you are, Dean. Baby, please. Don’t say things like that. And if we were boyfriends―”</p>
<p>“No. <em>Stop</em>.” Dean’s harsh voice makes Nick peak from behind the corner again to see Dean scrape a line in the dry grass with his boot, separating him and Mike, and then back two steps away. “I’ve been completely honest with you from the start. This is casual. I like you but I can’t promise deeper feelings. I’m not ready for a serious relationship. There’s too much other shit going on in my life for me to devote myself to a partner right now. And that’s pure fucking bullshit, Mikey. You want to hide that we’re fucking unless I tie myself to you? That sounds like emotional fucking blackmail and I ain’t having it. So the sexual part of our relationship ends right now.”</p>
<p>Nick never thought he’d see the day when he’d be cheering someone on while they were breaking his brother’s heart, yet here he is, holding his breath. He’s blown away by how clear and concise Dean’s being about how he feels, what he wants, and where his boundaries are.</p>
<p>Mike looks like his world is shattering. For a brief moment, he stands there with his jaw slack and horrified. Then he closes the distance between him and Dean, wrapping his arms around him and burrowing his face into Dean’s neck. “Baby, please. Please don’t. We’ll figure something out that works for you. I don’t want this to end,” Mike pleads, kissing Dean’s neck, clinging.</p>
<p>Dean grimaces as if he’s in pain, his resolve visibly crumbling. His hands come up to grab Mike by the upper arms. By the way he’s holding, it looks like he’s about to shove Mike off. But he doesn’t. “Babe. Come on. Don’t. Don’t… <em>oh fuck.</em> Maybe we can have an open relationship? I told you, if we try to be boyfriends at this point, I’ll end up cheating. I know I will. Babe―” Mike’s mouth finds Dean’s and the surrender is clear in how Dean’s shoulders slump. His arms glide down and around Mike to hold him, and he’s kissing back.</p>
<p>Nick’s ready to throw fists. He doesn’t recognize his own brother’s behavior. This is the kind of absolute garbage Nick used to do and Mike would scold him for.</p>
<p>Nick goes back to the garbage bin, lifts the lid to throw the trash bag in, and slams the lid back forcefully to make sure it’s heard. Then he walks towards the back of the house. “Dean?” he calls out. When he rounds the corner Mike and Dean have stepped away from each other. Mike’s hands are shoved into his front pockets, his expression perfectly innocent, while Dean’s hooked his hands in his back pockets and is trying not to look miserable.</p>
<p>Nick goes right for Dean, stops in front of him, and doles out a light slap.</p>
<p>“Hey! Whatta fuck, man?!” Dean protests indignantly, eyes flashing hotly. At the same time, Mike angrily says, “Nick!”</p>
<p>Nick points at Dean and calmly says, “You know what you did. Now you go inside and fix it.”</p>
<p>Dean’s angry stare shifts into insecurity, he bends his neck, eyes darting back and forth as if he’s looking through memories inside his head. His expression turns sheepish as he looks up. “Yeah, sorry. I’m on it,” he says before hurrying around the corner from where Nick came.</p>
<p>“What was that all about?” Mike asks angrily. “What did he do?”</p>
<p>Nick waits until he hears the entrance door close until he faces Mike to answer. “Nothing that I know of. But I’m sure he’ll figure something out. That was simply a demonstration.”</p>
<p>“He didn’t deserve to be hit.”</p>
<p>“No. But you do. Now, listen carefully, you little shit, because I have some choice words for you,” Nick says and points a finger in Mike’s face. Mike’s eyes widen in surprise and he takes a step back, Nick following. “Dean’s been saying odd things about you. Up until I saw you arguing just now, I thought he got it all wrong. I never thought I’d see the day you went full fuckboy.”</p>
<p>“Di-did you hear our fight?” Mike says uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Every last word of it. And your responses weren’t pretty. You know that I got a text from Dean at 4 AM this morning? He wrote that he couldn’t come home, so I called him up. He was stoned, so he said he’d sleep in his car because I’d said no drugs in the house. Now that’s bullshit. This is his home, so I jumped on my bike and went to get him. I gave him the pizza we saved for him and talked when we came home. You know why he was stoned?” Nick doesn’t give Mike the chance to answer. “Because you’d given him a guitar and said that he had to sing to you to keep it.”</p>
<p>“What? No! I’d never―!” Mike’s abruptly cut off by Nick’s fist, making a pained noise when Nick hits him.</p>
<p>Nick grabs Mike’s shirt to stop him from staggering back. He didn’t hit hard enough to break the nose, but hard enough to hurt and hard enough to cause a nosebleed. “I don’t care how you phrased it, that’s how it came off. Judging by what I just saw, I’m willing to fully believe him. He’s so nervous to sing in front of you that he hoped that the sedation would last until rehearsal so he’d be able to go through with it.”</p>
<p>Mike presses the heel of his hand to his nose, trying to stem the bleeding. “But that’s silly. I saw the clips. He’s a great singer. He’s got nothing to be nervous about.”</p>
<p>“Don’t make me hit you again, Mikey. You of all people should understand. Remember our very first gig? You were so nervous that we had to cancel five minutes before the show. Did we say you were silly?”</p>
<p>Mike’s finally starting to look ashamed and regretful.</p>
<p>Nick points at the dirt-line in the lawn that Dean had drawn with his foot. “He drew a physical fucking line in the sand and it took seconds before you overstepped. I saw you trying to dismiss his feelings, I saw you invalidate his concerns. I didn’t fucking recognize you, Mike. He did everything right. He was honest, he set up boundaries, he admitted fault, and he was willing to compromise. And you even ignored his protests when he didn’t want you to touch him.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t.”</p>
<p>“I was right here, Mike. He said, ‘Don’t. Don’t,’ and you went on until he surrendered. It didn’t take long, because he thinks you’re hotter than hell, but I’ve never seen you disrespect anybody as you’re disrespecting the guy you profess to be in love with.”</p>
<p>“Am I really that bad?” Mike asks, eyes heartbroken and posture shameful.</p>
<p>“Yes. So why isn’t he allowed to talk about you two? That’s apparently a very big issue for him.”</p>
<p>“It was really only you and Gabe that weren’t allowed to know,” Mike admits.</p>
<p>Even if those were the only restrictions it effectively stopped Dean from telling anyone in his regular friend group. “And <em>why</em> weren’t we allowed to know?”</p>
<p>“You know I can’t do casual…”</p>
<p>Nick processes this. The penny drops and he’s furious all over again. He slams Mike up against the wall and punches him full force in the belly before letting go. Mike folds over, struggling to draw breath, coughing with a pained whimper on all fours on the dry grass. Nick crouches down on one knee beside Mike and pulls his head up by the hair. “You isolate him from anyone that could see that you’re manipulating him emotionally and who could confirm to him that you’re lying to him. Nice. Well done, Mike. Really. Fucking fantastic.”</p>
<p>“I just didn’t want you to tease me,” Mike defends.</p>
<p>“Stop talking or I’ll put you in the fucking hospital. I don’t know if you’re trying to fool me or if you’re lying to yourself. I’m hoping it’s the latter. You remember the psychology class, right? One of the points that were made that really stuck with me was that we could play both the part of the victim and the abuser if we grew up in abuse. I’ve always struggled because I default to abusive behavior and I’ve been protective of you because you default to self-victimization. But this time, you tipped over to the other side. You’re doing the things that have been done to you. Worse, you’re doing it to someone who’s susceptible to that kind of abuse. You saw what I did to Dean just now. If he thought he was in the right he would’ve defended himself. But he grew up with inconsistent abuse, so he looks inward for the reason it’s happening. When we go inside you’ll see that he’s figured out why I hit him despite the fact that I didn’t have a reason. When you mistreat him, he’ll end up doing the same thing.”</p>
<p>“Fuck. I never meant to do any of those things.”</p>
<p>Nick lets go of Mike’s hair and sits down beside him. “I fucking hope not. But here is what’s going to happen now. I’ll give you two choices. No. Three. One, you can keep up the shitty behavior and you’re banned from this house. This is Dean’s home and he needs it to be safe. We’ll find another place to jam, don’t worry, but you’re not welcome here and I’ll have frequent talks with Dean explaining what you’re doing and why.” Nick takes a deep breath. “Two. You stop seeing Dean aside from as a friend. Like he said, it stops now, and you respect it. Or, three. You remove the gag order and you tell him how you feel. You’re just as open with him as he’s with you, and you’ll respect his choices if he decides to end it. You definitely don’t try to manipulate him to keep seeing you in another capacity than he wants.”</p>
<p>Mike sniffles.</p>
<p>It fucking hurts Nick to realize Mike’s crying. But he can’t fold. Mike and Gabe have done the same to him many times. Well. Barring the violence. But they’ve rubbed his nose in the shit and told him, ‘Look at what you did!’ until he was crawling with shame and self-loathing, not allowing any denial of wrongdoing. Nick’s ready to hold fast to forbidding Mike entrance to his house but he’d never desert him. Never.</p>
<p>“What’s it gonna be, Mike?”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I never meant to do those things. I didn’t realize what I was doing,” Mike sobs.</p>
<p>Nick pulls Mike in and hugs him to his chest while he sobs. “I know you didn’t. But you’re aware now. So what’s it gonna be?”</p>
<p>“I’ll make it right. I promise. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make it right,” Mike promises and clings to Nick’s embrace.</p>
<p>“Good,” Nick says and kisses the crown of his brother’s scalp, rocking him softly while he cries himself out.</p>
<p>When they get back in Dean’s just finishing screwing in the last screw in a set of shelves he’d promised he’d mount on the wall but hadn’t had time to do. He puts down the screwdriver and turns around to grin at Nick. “There. All done. Sorry, it slipped my mind before. Lots of shit going on in mah noggin. You know how it is. You go down the checklist of things you’re supposed to do but there’s always something you miss and I was dumb enough not to write it down,” he babbles.</p>
<p>Nick walks up to him, cups his cheeks, and smiles. “You’re a good boy. I don’t know how I ever managed without you.”</p>
<p>Dean averts his gaze bashfully, cheeks heating up. “It was nothing. Don’t mention it.”</p>
<p>Nick hums. “The next time I hit you for something like this? Hit back. It didn’t warrant violence and words would have sufficed,” he says and lets go.</p>
<p>“Pfft. That little pat? Barely felt it. I―” Dean spots Mike behind Nick and goes serious. “What happened? Why are you bleeding, Mike?”</p>
<p>“I did something terrible. I lied about important things and Nick reminded me of my shortcomings. I deserved this.”</p>
<p>Dean’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Dean looks between Mike and Nick and back, then he relaxes a notch. “Alright. Take off your shirt. The bloodstains need to be run under cold water before they set.”</p>
<p>Just like that, Dean’s back to normal, doting on others and fixing practical stuff.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike wants nothing more than to go home and hide, he’s so damn ashamed of himself. He hadn’t realized what he was doing. Hadn’t stopped to think, just acted on desperation, want, and fear of losing Dean. Any time Dean said no he’d just clung desperately begging for a yes, without considering what he was doing. He hadn’t even defined to himself why he didn’t want Gabe and Nick to know, until Nick put words to it. But it’s because of the high likeliness that they’d get in the way somehow.</p>
<p>Dean’s got him propped down on the toilet lid, washing the blood off his face and inspecting the damage while the shirt’s in the sink, stains blasted by running tap-water. “Did you really deserve this? Because I can go kick his ass right now. I swear I will,” Dean says, inspecting the damage while washing it, a troubled frown gracing his beautiful face.</p>
<p>“Yes. I think it’s the first beating in my life I actually deserve,” Mike admits. “And it was only two hits, one to the nose and one to the belly.”</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t look convinced, but says, “Fair enough.”</p>
<p>“Did you really think I’d take back your guitar if you didn’t sing to me?”</p>
<p>Dean’s eyes flick to Mike’s briefly before he refocuses on what he’s doing with the wet piece of cloth he’s using to wash Michael’s face. “Well, yeah. That’s what you said. ‘I gave you a guitar. It isn’t too much to ask in return.’”</p>
<p>The answer makes Mike nauseous. “I didn’t mean it like that, Dean. I really want to hear you sing. The idea of you singing has me all fired up. But the guitar is yours. It was a gift, not a bargaining chip.” Even now it’s hard not to launch into a campaign to convince Dean to sing to him, despite the talk Nick just had with him. He just wants <em>so damn much</em>. But Nick’s right, and it’s horrifying to realize. There hadn’t been anything ambiguous about Dean’s ‘no’ and ‘I don’t want to.’ The ‘some other time’ had come after Mike didn’t respect the no and pushed on. Dean draws breath to say something but Mike puts a finger to his lips, hushing him. “I’ve lied to you,” he says, ripping the bandaid.</p>
<p>Dean slowly sinks back on his haunches, giving Mike his full attention. “Okay?”</p>
<p>“I was afraid telling you the truth would make you distance yourself from me.”</p>
<p>“Uhuh?” Dean gets up and throws the bloody cloth in the wastebasket. He leans against the counter and looks at Mike with a tense expression, waiting, hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him.</p>
<p>“I’m in love with you,” Mike confesses. “I’ve been mad about you since I first saw you. You came storming towards us on the parking lot behind the Anchor, intent on murder, and I was lost. But when you’ve asked me, I lied, because you said we’d have to stop if things got too serious.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Dean remains leaned against the counter, expression neutral, giving nothing away.</p>
<p>Mike swallows dryly. He reminds himself that out of the options Nick gave, this is the only right thing to do. How could he have strayed so far from the right path? He’d done a few ‘I would nevers’ towards Dean and he hadn’t even realized it. “I didn’t want my siblings to know. Not because they’d tease me, but because they’d meddle. They know I’m in love with you, and… they know I can’t do casual when I’ve got feelings for someone. They’d tell you and you’d end it. I just wanted it to go on while it could.”</p>
<p>Dean sighs deeply and rubs a hand over his face. He looks at the door. It’s not properly shut but the guys are still downstairs. Although Mike is willing to bet Nick’s listening in, ready to slink into his bedroom at first sign of them emerging. “I knew. Of course I knew you’re crushing on me. I ain’t blind and I might be a dumbass, but I ain’t stupid. I’ve been pretending to myself that I believe you when you’ve claimed you aren’t, because I don’t want to stop being with you. I like you. The sex is awesome. You’re all kinds of awesome and I really enjoy spending time with you.”</p>
<p>“So why not be boyfriends?” Mike asks stupidly, driven by the hope behind his ribcage.</p>
<p>Dean gives Mike a cold look. “Oh, I could. If these were normal circumstances, I’d have said yes to it from the get-go. I’m not saying no to spare <em>my</em> feelings. Under normal circumstances, I’d be at the end of my time here already so I’d be out of here in a week or two. Understand that my life has been fucking groundhog day since I was four. Only, new towns over and over. I’ve gotten do-over after do-over. It’s made me pretty damn aware of what I fail at even when I try not to. Like fidelity, unless I’m madly in love. Hell, even then it can be a challenge. But I’m an awesome liar. Most likely, you’d never find out if I cheated. Like, I’m such a good liar that once I was nabbed by the cops, right? They showed me security footage of me stealing. Good, clear footage. It was me, okay? No doubt. I had a freakout. Pretended to get scared about having a body double. Called my dad in front of the cops, asking him if I had a twin. I was like, ‘Dad, I’m at the police station. You know that day when we were at Uncle Bobby’s repairing the ‘69 Fastback? The cops just showed me a photo of a guy that looks just like me stealing stuff in Fresno at the same time. No joke, dude looks <em>just like me</em>. Do I have a twin?’”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “The theatrics, man, oh boy, I’m fucking proud of myself. Seriously. It ended with them letting me go with an apology.” His face goes serious again. “The point is, I lie a lot. If I agree to be your boyfriend before I’m good and ready to commit, you won’t be able to trust me worth a shit. And another thing. I like you. I like you a lot. I can see the potential for something more. But I can’t promise I’ll fall in love. So I don’t want to tell you to hold on and wait for me to be ready. It’s just as possible that someone else comes along and suddenly I’m blindsided by feelings for them. But if I asked you to wait, that’s basically a promise, and the hurt you’d feel would be ten times as bad. Believe me, I’ve already made those mistakes.”</p>
<p>“So you think you’ll meet someone out of the blue, and―”</p>
<p>Dean interrupts him. “No. I told you, I fall in love slowly. Attraction might be instant. It was with you. But falling in love? It could be Annie or Lisa or Steve. People already in my life that I happen to spend time with and suddenly realize I no longer feel the same about as I did. But they might be people I didn’t even consider romantically from the start, so yeah, I’d be blindsided by the realization.”</p>
<p>Mike swallows and looks down at his lap. He holds his own hand, rubbing a thumb over the other to calm himself. “Why do you think you’d cheat?”</p>
<p>“I dunno, statistical evidence?” Dean answers with a humorless huff. “Look, I’ve often told myself that I won’t. But then I’ve been separated from my girlfriend and someone else is there, warm and cuddly and inviting and it fucking falls apart. I’m so fucking needy, babe, you don’t even get it. Like, I joke about Mom not hugging me enough but I bet that if I’d read psychology I’d find a page about it and go, ‘Hah! Nailed it!’ Plus, most people won’t accept just snuggling. You need to fuck them to get the cuddling. And even if all that happens is cuddling, most girlfriends won’t stand for that either.”</p>
<p>Dean shakes his head and gestures at Mike. “Just look at you. You walked in on Nick holding me when we’d fallen asleep talking. We were both fully clothed. <em>Nothing</em> had happened and you still gave him the evil eye. But you’re not here. He is. And even when you are here you won’t sleep with me or sit cuddled on the couch in case someone sees us together. Not gonna lie, that’s, that’s a pretty big obstacle for me to ever develop stronger feelings for you. You demand I choose between you and my life and <em>you’re not here,</em>” Dean says then turns and shuts the water off to inspect the bloodstains on Mike’s shirt. He wrings it out and hangs it over the shower curtain to dry then resumes his position leaned against the counter.</p>
<p>Elbows on his knees Mike leans his face heavily in his hands, covering his face. “Wow. I really did deserve those punches.”</p>
<p>Dean goes rigid. “Wait. Nick hit you because of me?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“<em>Sonnova bitch!</em>” Dean stalks towards the door looking like thunder, pulling his sleeves up.</p>
<p>“Wait!” Mike bounces up and grabs him around the hips, pulling him back, then wraps his arms around Dean’s midriff, locking him in place. “Please, don’t. He hit me because I was making excuses for myself, denying trying to manipulate you emotionally, justifying my behavior. He did it for my sake, to get me to listen. We do that for each other. When one of us is slipping in the wrong direction we catch each other. It’s usually me catching him. He only gave me two hits and none of them caused lasting damages. Please, accept that he was right in what he did. I stand behind everything he said about me. I’m grateful for the callout. Please, Dean,” he rambles.</p>
<p>Dean’s tense for several seconds before he lets out a frustrated huff. “I don’t like people hurting you.”</p>
<p>“And I don’t like people hurting you. The person that was, was me. I’m sorry, Dean,” Mike says earnestly.</p>
<p>Dean deflates and leans their foreheads together. “Alright.”</p>
<p>“So what happens with us now?”</p>
<p>“I’m not ready for a relationship, Mike. Between moving in here, Sam’s depression, my new job, lying to Dad, trying to fit in time for my hobbies, and my long-ass to-do list, I just don’t have the energy for a full-time commitment right now. I’d love to keep seeing you as we’ve been. But I don’t want to hurt you. You’d have to accept that I date or hook up with others sometimes. And I don’t want to be a secret. If you can’t handle those two things, we’ll have to dial back our relationship to just friends. I’m serious.”</p>
<p>“Openly casual it is,” Mike says with a smile to hide how close to tears he is. On one hand, he’s ecstatic. Dean knows how he feels and is willing to go on anyway. On the other hand, he’s hurting himself. Dean’s practical about it. Pull out and get over the heartache. Let it develop into just a friendship. But Brady tried to do that and it just meant that he and Sam aren’t that close friends anymore. Nick and Mike had stood by each other until their fling evolved into brotherhood. Mike’s suffered rejection all his life. He might as well enjoy the crumbs he’s being thrown.</p>
<p>“You sure about that, babe?” Dean asks and strokes a lock of hair out of Mike’s face.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Dean’s warm lips press softly against his as a reward he doesn’t deserve.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay. I need to address this so there is no confusion.<br/><b>Nick was in no way justified in using violence towards Mike.</b><br/>Violence is only okay in self-defense. Like Nick said to Dean, if words could suffice, violence isn't justified. Nick has anger issues and a violent temper. It's part of how his traumas shaped him. He's become a lot better but we've seen him lash out before. Sam when Sam had hurt Mike, the random man in the alley, Gabe after the glitter prank. It's all wrong and so is his use of violence here.<br/>I'm not accounting for playfighting, which is something they all do for fun now and then and it's consensual. Same as any martial arts training they might do. Then it's also consensual.<br/>Mike thinks Nick is justified here, and Dean thinks violence can be justified as a punishment too, but it isn't. Like we saw with Kali, Dean's no stranger to using violence himself, he just has better emotional control than Nick. These boys have been subjected to a lot of violence in their youth and childhood. It's been normalized but it isn't and shouldn't be normal.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. ELLA</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam meets someone that gives him good news. That ultimately leads him to dare make a call he's been itching to make. Dean's dares to be open in an unexpected way, and therefore breaks through Nick's shell.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>Mentions of past child abuse, sexual molestation of children, and rape. Two snapshot flashbacks that aren't graphic but make Sam uncomfortable. Heavy emotions.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Good things <em>do</em> happen. It’s lunchtime. Sam walks across campus and spots a police car. He sees Uriel get out from it and instantly beelines in Uriel’s direction. Uriel looks around and it isn’t until Sam’s raised his hand to wave that he realizes Uriel might not be there for him. He feels stupid. Why would Uriel show up here for him? But then Uriel spots him, gives him one of those restrained smiles, and waves back, turning his body in Sam’s direction as if he’s waiting for Sam to catch up.</p>
<p>Sam lengthens his steps, smiling broadly. Once he’s close he doesn’t even think twice about what he does, spreading his arms, going for a hug.</p>
<p>Uriel chuckles lowly in surprise and pats Sam awkwardly on the back. “Nice to see you, Sam. This was a bit unexpected,” he says and steps away.</p>
<p>“Oh. Um. Yeah, sorry. I, I guess I overstepped, huh? I just. I’m happy to see you, you know? You were really nice and helpful to me. I, I guess it doesn’t look good to hug a cop on official business, huh? I’m sorry,” Sam flusters and drags a hand through his hair, smiling at his feet.</p>
<p>Uriel chuckles again. “I’m not here on official business. I was going to call you, but decided to come by here and check if you were in school like you said you’d be.”</p>
<p>Sam grins. “Making sure I’m not out making trouble? Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, wondering if he said something wrong judging by Uriel’s bemused expression. He drops his smile, looking at Uriel with what Dean dubbed ‘puppy eyes’. “Sir, am I in trouble?”</p>
<p>“Not at all to my knowledge. Have you read the news today?”</p>
<p>“No. Did something happen?”</p>
<p>“You might think so. Can I buy you lunch, or are you busy?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>That’s how Sam finds himself in a nice Indian restaurant with the chief of police. They’ve ordered and gotten their sodas when Uriel takes a rolled-up newspaper out of his jacket. “I felt very bad about being a part of what happened to you, Sam. It goes against everything I stand for.”</p>
<p>“No, no. You did nothing wrong,” Sam hastens to assure. “You were nice to me. You made sure I was warm, and got food and drink, and told me I could stop whenever I wanted. And, and, I remember what you did for me afterwards. I got a job from that list you gave me and I get myself tested regularly. I mean, even if I have sex for fun. It’s, it’s…” he trails off, suddenly remembering that maybe he shouldn’t talk openly about his job with a cop. But Uriel already knows. And it had felt <em>so good</em> to tell Nick. To talk about it. It was all kinds of awful too. Talking with Nick had been humiliating. He’s been so ashamed. But Nick had started talking about how to make sure he was safe if he wanted to continue doing it and Sam’s heart had broken in the strangest way. Especially when Nick almost cried about it yet still didn’t judge him.</p>
<p>“Are you still working?” Uriel asks.</p>
<p>“Um. I, I, um. I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but yeah, it has happened. I’m trying not to. I don’t want to. But there was that time I would’ve become homeless if I didn’t get the money fast enough and the market research job didn’t pay enough. A friend of mine had borrowed money from me and didn’t pay me back as she promised. Are you gonna arrest me?”</p>
<p>Uriel shakes his head. “If we’re doing a sting and you happen to get picked up, I can’t do anything about it. But, no. I have no wish to destroy the lives of young people steering clear of drugs, trying to get through college.” He pushes the newspaper towards Sam. “I wanted you to see this.”</p>
<p>Curiously, Sam unrolls the newspaper to see a big picture of Zachariah in a bathrobe, wearing handcuffs on the front page. The headline reads, ‘<tt>Sandover CEO Zachariah Adler arrested for sex crimes against minors!</tt>’ Sam sucks in a breath and looks up sharply.</p>
<p>“We caught him red-handed along with Abby and her husband Alastair Daemon. They’re the ones you safeworded for. They were doing despicable things to a 14 and 15-year-old. They’re rich, so they’ll lawyer up, but thanks to you, we’ve got a solid case and a good chance of all of them getting convicted. I thought it was bad enough what you told me, but at least you’re a legal adult. These monsters went after minors, so it was even worse. I’m glad you talked to me or they wouldn’t have been on our radar.”</p>
<p>Sam skims the article with a vast, undefined but positive feeling in his chest. “I mean, that’s how I met him,” he says distractedly. “I looked younger, and he wanted me to call him daddy and act childishly. The S&amp;M didn’t come into play until I was losing my young looks.”</p>
<p>“How did you meet him?”</p>
<p>“Oh, um, I passed Sandover’s office building and met his gaze. He was standing outside arguing with his driver. I can tell when someone wants me like that, so I stopped, did this,” Sam pulls his shoulders inward, bends his neck and tilts his head to look up from under his bangs shyly, “then, when he’d dismissed the driver I walked up to him and said, ‘Sir, you wanted me?’” Sam looks back at the article, reading the charges. “Back then it was still a piece of cake. Not quite as easy as when I was a kid, but still easy.”</p>
<p>“How old were you when you started?”</p>
<p>“12. No, wait. 13, I think?”</p>
<p>“And where were your parents?”</p>
<p>“Mom’s dead, and…” Sam looks up at Uriel’s serious face, suddenly horrified. “Okay, wow, no. I’m, I’m. I don’t really want to talk about it?” He chuckles awkwardly. “I’ve just figured out I’m depressed, and my brother’s helping me deal with it. Plus all my friends. They’re really good people and they’ve gone through some really bad things in their lives. I, um, my best friend helped me get into therapy. I had my first session yesterday,” he says, smile turning bright and proud.</p>
<p>Uriel takes a breath to speak but right then their waitress shows up with their food. He waits until she’s left until he asks, “These friends of yours, are they in the same line of work as you?”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “Oh my god, no. One’s an accountant, another a construction engineer, and the third a pastry artist.” He gives Uriel the cliffnotes of how he met the Archangels and their background. “I guess they kinda adopted me after that? It’s, it’s good. I think things might have gone badly for me this summer if I hadn’t made friends with them.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad to hear that, Sam. Stories such as yours rarely end well. So you’ve started going to therapy?”</p>
<p>Sam has no idea why it feels so easy to talk to the older man. Just like last time, he looks stern and cold by default without seeming uncaring. And he already <em>knows</em>. He’s helped Sam before. He’s an authority figure you’re supposed to obey. And Sam has this dual feeling in his chest. He doesn’t want anyone to find out anything about him but at the same time, he wants to talk. It’s like he has this bubble inside of him wanting to burst. It started with Steve and him talking, Sam sharing tiny bits of the whole truth, then escalated when Nick caught him behind that dumpster (and scared the living crap out of him) and their talk afterward. “Yes. Steve, my best friend, took me to the school counselor that referred me to Hope Haven, an institution the school has a collaboration with. They’ve got discounted treatment for students. I don’t have insurance or anything, but everyone was really nice and since they think I’m some sort of severe case at risk of killing myself, I got five sessions for only 20 bucks per session, and for further sessions, I’ll have to pay 50 bucks. From what I understand, that’s cheap.”</p>
<p>“Are you at risk of killing yourself?” Uriel asks and takes a bite of his food.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so? The counselor asked me questions before she referred me, and I answered that I thought life would be better for everyone I cared for if I died, you know? But I’ve never actually thought about ending my own life. Besides, my brother Dean would kill me if I committed suicide.”</p>
<p>Uriel’s eyes sparkle and he sniggers. “If that’s what’s keeping you from doing it, then it’s a relevant fear to have,” he jokes.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Sam smiles and digs into his strange food, Pork Vindaloo. The menu had stated it as hot and the waitress had given him a skeptical look and a, ‘Are you sure?’ when he ordered. He gets why. The dish is spicy enough to compete with Gabe’s hot sauce. It comes with the same rush that makes him feel hot and start to sweat. His heart races and he gets this sucking feeling under his sternum. Just like anytime he eats something with Gabe’s hot sauce he wants to lean back and enjoy the rush. Hot food helps him understand what Nick’s talking about when he talks about drugs. Indian food sails right up there beside wasabi-laden sushi to compete for the top spot as a favorite.</p>
<p>“And your therapist, do you feel comfortable talking to her?” Uriel probes.</p>
<p>Sam reflects that Uriel could work within market research. He’d be a good interviewer. On the other hand, interrogating criminals might very well be in the same wheelhouse. “Yeah. I really like her. Her name is Layla Rourke. She’s soft-spoken and mild-mannered and radiates calm. I could probably go into her office and sit there in silence for 45 minutes and feel better afterward. Have you met anyone like that?”</p>
<p>Uriel nods.</p>
<p>“Like, there are things I’m not comfortable talking to her about yet. Things I don’t want to tell anyone. Like, like,” Sam lowers his voice to nearly a whisper and leans over the table to speak, “<em>prostitution</em>,” he says and leans back, going back to his normal tone. “You already know, so there’s no point in lying. I don’t know if I’ll ever dare bring it up with her. But I’ve only been to one session so we’ll see. I feel kinda hopeful and excited about going to therapy, but it’s also scary, you know? Most secrets I have aren’t my own.”</p>
<p>“Therapists have patient confidentiality. They’re required to breach confidentiality if a client poses an imminent threat to themselves, the therapist, or a third party. The information must be divulged to a person capable of taking action to reduce the threat, like us, the police,” Uriel says. “But you don’t have to fear that she’ll rat you out for talking about selling yourself to survive. Especially not if you mention how early you started. I would think these things impact your mental health a lot, so it might be important to bring it up eventually.”</p>
<p>Sam takes a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket. “She gave me homework to think about what I wanted to talk about the next time I come. I definitely want to talk about what I can say without her calling the cops on me,” he explains while he writes it down then puts the notebook back in his pocket.</p>
<p>“Good idea. The circumstances around how we met mandates me to take a personal interest in how you fare. Do you still have my number? Would you mind texting me updates once in a while?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Sir,” Sam grins and goes back to eating.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“So, are you two an item now?” Sam probes for the eleventh time, pushing the school book away.</p>
<p>Dean groans and faceplates on the desk of the library. “Dammit, Sammy, will you <em>stop</em>? It’s not fucking <em>natural</em> to be this excited about someone banging your ex.”</p>
<p>“But I saw you make out after your jam session and Steve told me Mike stayed the night,” Sam persists.</p>
<p>“Yeah, so?” Dean looks up with a fed-up expression. “I’m telling you what I told Mike; I’m not ready for a committed relationship. I don’t want a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter.”</p>
<p>Sam’s forehead wrinkles in concern. “Is it really that important to have sex with others?”</p>
<p>“No. Sex has nothing to do with it. Not much, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you like him?”</p>
<p>“Of fucking course I like him. He’s hot, smart, funny, and all kinds of awesome. And the sex is kickass.”</p>
<p>Sam tilts his head, trying to understand. “But if you like him, and sex with him is so good, why can’t you be boyfriends?”</p>
<p>Dean rolls his eyes then looks around if there’s anyone listening in, but this part of the library is more or less empty. “Not everyone wants to be tied down, you know? Like, <em>jeez</em>, I’m not even 22. And, yeah, okay, maybe sex with others is a little bit important. Maybe I feel like doin’ some experimenting before I settle down? But, like, sex isn’t everything. I’m not gonna make promises to someone I’m not in love with. We only see each other like twice a week, for fuck sake. I’m not saying it’ll never happen, okay? But I’m saying, back off and let us figure it out ourselves, okay?”</p>
<p>Sam’s shoulders slump in disappointed acceptance. “Okay…”</p>
<p>“Mike didn’t give you the deets on us during your weekly lunch?”</p>
<p>“We don’t do that anymore. I’d have to cut class to fit it in. But we still talk on the phone a lot. We just haven’t spoken since Sunday when you two got together.”</p>
<p>“Dude. We’ve been fucking for weeks. You get that, right?”</p>
<p>Sam’s shocked. “But he said―”</p>
<p>“We lied, Sammy. He wanted us to keep it a secret not to hurt you. Seriously. I ain’t gonna fuck your crush, but to me, your ex isn’t off-limits. However, I ain’t gonna hurt you needlessly. If I was serious about him I woulda told you.” Dean shrugs. “But then you went full on shipper and he <em>still</em> wanted us to lie. Dunno why. I didn’t like it. It doesn’t matter now.”</p>
<p>“What’s a shipper?”</p>
<p>“Someone who’s invested in a certain relationship that isn’t their own. Install Tumblr on your phone and you’ll get it. Now get back to your damn books. Clock is ticking,” Dean scolds.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grumps. He pulls his book closer and starts reading again. At first his head is full of Mike and Dean, wondering why Mike wanted it to be secret and hoping Dean would fall in love. But then he starts throwing looks Dean’s way. Dean’s also reading today but it isn’t Sam’s coursework. Sam hadn’t paid attention when Dean went and got the books. He never used to pay attention to what Dean read back in the days either. Dean read a lot, always had. Sometimes it was fiction like ‘Animal Farm’, ‘Slaughterhouse 5’, ‘Catch 22’, ‘1984’, ‘Fahrenheit 451’ to name a few Sam could remember. But far more often it was boring books about practical things, ranging from horseback riding to how to build a house. It just wasn’t fun to cozy up to Dean’s side and then listen to him read out loud about how to weld circuits in a transistor radio or whatever. Fiction was more fun.</p>
<p>But Sam’s changed. He isn’t living in his little bubble anymore. He’s curious about the secret life of his brother. Especially since Dean’s in deep concentration, scratching notes into a notebook then chewing on the pencil until it’s time to write the next note. “What are you reading?”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Dean looks up. “Oh. Um, just some laws and stuff.”</p>
<p>“Laws?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Like copyright laws, fair use, what you’re allowed to say about people online. Crap like that. But I’mma dumbass so to understand half the stuff I’m reading I keep having to look it up here,” he puts his hand on another book called, ‘The American Justice System.’ “Basically, from what I gather, even if you’re in the right you’re screwed if you go up against any corporation. It’s all about who can afford to throw the most money on lawyers. Oh well,” he chuckles. “Did you need help with something?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Alright, then.” Dean goes back to reading.</p>
<p>Sam stares at his brother for a few more seconds before diving back into his studies.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You’d have been impressed, Ella. The guy is a master communicator when he wants to be. With that level of honesty and self-awareness, he’s the kind of guy one actually <em>could</em> have a working relationship with. But the moment Mikey snuggled up to him and started kissing him he folded like a house of cards. I never thought the day would come that I held the moral high-ground to Mikey,” Nick says and throws a look at the clock at his nightstand. He’s home alone. Steve’s in the city with his friends and Dean’s working. Nick’s come to hate Wednesdays. Fridays and Saturdays fun stuff happens but on Wednesdays, he’s worrying because Dean will come home in the middle of the night. Maybe he should just go in and sing karaoke with Dean so he doesn’t have to fret?</p>
<p>“I know. Mike told me all about it. Did you listen in on the talk they had in the bathroom?" Ella asks.</p>
<p>Nick shifts the phone to the other ear and stares out the window. It's strange how lonely he feels. He's lived alone for years, but now that he doesn't live alone anymore, the silence of the house is thunderous. "Why, El. How could you think such a thing about me? Would I ever breach privacy like that?"</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. "In other words, you did."</p>
<p>Ella's words sound strange so Nick shifts the phone back to the original ear. "Of course I did. What happens under my roof is my business. Dean's my wife now. I'm protective of him," he jokes.</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. "I'd be careful not to take the wife joke too far around Mike. He'll wilt even further."</p>
<p>"Oh, shush, woman. You're just jealous I got married to a ray of sunshine before you did," Nick counters and picks up the Bluetooth adapter he threw on the bed when he entered the room. He holds it up for inspection and ponders whether to gift wrap it or install it. You attach the led strips to it and then you can control the light through an app instead of the remote Dean's currently got. The advantage is that each led strip could be controlled manually. Instead of changing color in the whole room, with the adapter, the floor strips could be red while the ceiling strips could be blue on one side and green on the other for instance. Nick thinks Dean will love it. He decides he'll install it as a surprise.</p>
<p>"He really is a ray of sunshine," Ella agrees. "Denise watches his cute-video several times daily for serotonin boosts, and I'm looking forward to every time he updates. I'll admit, the house video moved me enough to cry a little. Mostly because I know what it must mean to you."</p>
<p>Nick frowns. "House video? What are you talking about? What updates?"</p>
<p>"His YouTube channel. You didn't know?"</p>
<p>"Noo<em>o</em>. I most definitely did <em>not</em> know." Nick throws the adapter on the bed and goes to fetch his laptop. "How do <em>you</em> know about it?"</p>
<p>"He sent a link to Denise when he uploaded his first video. I thought he was so brave. It was a coming-out video."</p>
<p>"Huh. He did tell me he'd come out to all his friends. I thought he'd sent them an email or something," Nick says and sits down on the bed, scooting backward to lean against the headboard, then opening his laptop. "What's his username?"</p>
<p>"It's just his name. Hold on, I'll email you the link," Ella says. Nick waits while the laptop boots up. He hears the clicking of keys on a keyboard through the phone, then his phone dings for incoming email. "There."</p>
<p>"Mh." Nick puts on speaker and throws the phone beside himself, opens the email on his laptop, and follows the link. The YouTube channel doesn't have an introduction video. "Which one do I start with?"</p>
<p>"If you're having a bad day, the cute video. If you need practical adulting advice, any of the videos in the 'I have no idea how to' playlist, if you want to be stabbed in the heart, go for the 'Where am I?' video. Otherwise, I'd start with his first upload."</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face. "There are eleven videos already. How the hell has he had time to make so many videos?"</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. "I know. When he had his desk meltdown in IKEA, I thought he wanted to be a gamer, but, no."</p>
<p>There's a video called 'You're cute'. It has over 20k views already. Nick clicks on it, far too curious. It's less than a minute long. Dean’s in a T-shirt, his hair a disarray as if he’s just woken up. He’s leaning tiredly on his desk, his head supported heavily in his hand, one elbow on his desk. His eyelids are heavy and his smile soft. He’s looking directly at the screen as if he’s looking right at you. “<em>Hi</em>,” he says softly.</p>
<p>“You went straight for the cute video, I see,” Ella mumbles, listening in.</p>
<p>On screen, Dean looks at the viewer, eyes moving as if his gaze is trailing over someone’s face. His smile widens. “<em>Damn, you’re cute,</em>” he says, grinning, eyes sparkling as if looking at the viewer makes him happy. He stays quiet for a while, just watching the viewer smiling. Then he sighs wistfully and straightens up, putting his hand down. “<em>Listen, I’ve gotta go. Duty calls. But thanks for hanging in there for me. I appreciate it. It makes my day better knowing you’re still around. I’ll see you later, okay?</em>” He winks at the viewer, reaches out, and the video ends.</p>
<p>“I bet you’re smiling,” Ella says, amusement in her voice.</p>
<p>Nick touches his face and realizes that, yes, he is, in fact, smiling. He scrunches his nose up petulantly. “Fuck sake. The little shit complains about my affirming exercises and then he goes and does <em>this</em>?”</p>
<p>“Your what?” Ella sniggers.</p>
<p>Nick rubs a hand over his face and whines a wordless complaint. He removes his hand. “They’re little birds. Little, helpless, baby birds, Ella. They’re scared and hurt and need to hear that they’re wanted and extraordinary and that someone will be there for them. So I’ve tried to implement stuff you’ve told me about. Things you, Mike, and Gabe have experienced in therapy. It’s dumb, because while I’m doing it, I’m also going through a mental recipe book on how to cook and eat small, wounded birds.”</p>
<p>Ella laughs. “Out of all of us, I never expected it to be you who decided to walk in Dad’s footsteps. But somehow I’m not surprised now that you are.”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “I haven’t opened a foster home, El. I got myself a wife and a perfect little Babygay. It’s not the same,” he answers and clicks backward to watch Dean’s first upload.</p>
<p>“You keep telling yourself that, Nicky. I― Hold on, someone else is calling.” There’s a brief pause, then Ella’s back. “Nicky, I’ll call you back later, okay? Sam’s on the other line.”</p>
<p>“My Sam?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Alright. Talk to you later. Love you.”</p>
<p>“Love you too. Bye.”</p>
<p>Nick’s crawling with curiosity about why Sam’s calling Ella, and resents that he can’t hang back and listen in on the call. He hits play. Dean’s sitting by his desk. The lighting’s different from the cute-video. Better. More deliberate. He’s beaming at the camera. “<em>Hey y’all! I’m nearly 22 years old and I just got my first, very own computer. I have no idea what I’m doing!</em>” he says, eyes sparkling.</p>
<p>Nick chuckles, reliving Dean’s excitement when they went to buy the computer.</p>
<p>“<em>And this is my first real home,</em>” Dean says, making a sweeping motion towards the room, leaning out of frame briefly. “<em>I’m just renting a room, but still</em>,” he says coming back into frame. “<em>I’ve been promised to live here for at least two years. That’s, that’s… phew.</em>” He drags a hand over his face with wide eyes. “<em>Okay, but I’m starting from the wrong end. I sent a link to this video to all the people I’ve been fortunate to make friends with. I’ve missed you guys. I’ve moved a lot, and some of you I was only fortunate to know for two weeks, others a whooping three months. To most of you, I was probably no more than an insignificant blip in your life. But to me, you meant a lot. I still think of you. I still wonder how y’all are doing, and treasure the friendship we had, however brief. I want y’all to know that</em>.”</p>
<p>Nick covers his mouth with a hand with a sudden lump in his throat.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dammit, Dean! How many times a week are you set on breaking my heart?</em>
</p>
<p>Dean had inserted himself so quickly in Sam’s friend group, weeding out Jane and Christine with a snap of his fingers. It was easy to judge him for it, to see the manipulative streak. But Dean’s hyper social. If Nick and Dean are alone at home Dean will be nearby. He and Steve are always up to something when they’re home alone. Dean won’t go into their bedrooms uninvited, but will badger them as soon as they emerge. It’s easy to forget that all his friendships have always been on a timer, and how awful that must be to someone so social.</p>
<p>“<em>I’m still counting y’all as friends. But, I’ve recently come to a realization that may change that, so I’ve got something I need to tell you</em>,” Dean goes on. “<em>And since this is public, and you who are watching might have happened upon this video randomly; first off, hi, I’m Dean Winchester. Welcome. Secondly, if we’re ever to have an amicable relationship, this concerns you too so hang in there while I make my announcement. And if you can see past it, I’ll make my formal introduction afterward</em>.”</p>
<p>Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out in a huff, and leans forward to look straight at the viewer. “<em>I’m bisexual.</em>” He pauses and leans back in the chair again. “<em>That means, I’m sexually and romantically attracted to both men and women</em>.” He suddenly grins impishly. “<em>And, I’m trans-inclusive,</em>” he says, winks, and makes finger guns at the camera. He leans forward again. “<em>Oh, for those of you who worry I’ve ogled y’all in the shower or perved on y’all in any way, the answer is no. You see, I’m a certified dumbass, so I didn’t realize I was bi until recently. And it took some pretty unsubtle flirting for me to get it. Up until then, I’ve looked at guys and thought, ‘Damn, he’s hot! I get why girls like him!’ and then went on with my day. Whelp, not anymore. Now I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m an equal opportunist. I had to come out so I knew which ones of you to cut out of my life. If you can’t accept me as I am? Buh-bye!</em>” he says and waves at the camera.</p>
<p>He goes on talking about himself, chit-chatting happily about other stuff. Nick scrolls down to read the comments. There are some truly vitriolic, hateful comments aimed at his sexuality. But there are also enthusiastic comments from friends that are happy to have found him again.</p>
<p>Next Nick looks at the playlist Ella mentioned. It has two videos in it. The first one’s called ‘How to change a toilet valve’, and the second, ‘How to change a tire’. Nick clicks the first one.</p>
<p>It starts in Dean’s bedroom. “<em>Heya all. I’m Dean Winchester and I have no idea what I’m doing!</em>” he chirps. Then the video cuts to Dean walking down a corridor in a strange apartment. “<em>Apparently, neither does my gorgeous, smart, funny, and talented friend Annie. Now, she has a running toilet but no idea how to fix that. Buu-ut, as luck would have it, it’s one of the few things I do know how to do. So I’m gonna show y’all.</em>” What follows is a very charming and informative video of him changing a toilet valve.</p>
<p>The next video has the same catchphrase, but this time Dean’s stopped by the side of the road to help a stranger change a tire. It’s very easy to follow along with the instructions and Dean’s got a friendly, positive energy that translates very well through video.</p>
<p>Next Nick watches the ‘Where am I?’ video Ella recommended. It starts like all the others (except the cute-video). Dean’s walking down a forest path filming with a selfie stick. “<em>Hey, y’all, and welcome to my channel. I’m Dean Winchester, and I’ve got no idea what I’m doing,</em>” he says with a grin. Nick recognises the path Dean’s walking on. It’s a trail that goes between the neighbors’ and his house but on the backside, away from the road.</p>
<p>“<em>A lot of y’all have been asking where I live now. Both wondering about my house and location. Yeah, so, I’m gonna be straight with you. I can’t really tell y’all. My little brother ran away from home and I found him. He ran away to go to college where he got in on a full ride. Dad wants me to force him to come home and I ain’t gonna do that. And, Dad, if you’re watching, I’ll fight you if you try to take him out of school. Fucking try me. Anyway, one of Sam’s friends was a real asshole. Like, all my stranger-danger alarms went off when we met. I’d say the feeling was mutual. But Sam adores him, and he’s brother to one of Sam’s best friends. So I was stuck with him.</em>”</p>
<p>He goes on to tell them about sleeping in his car, Nick (no name mentioned) finding him there and offering him a key to his house.</p>
<p>“<em>I’ve lived in a lot of houses, trailers, motels, apartments, you name it. Some places have a nicer feel to them than others, right? Like the apartment in Detroit, or the house in Waterbury, Connecticut. I loved both those places. But have you ever,</em>” there’s a jump-cut and Dean’s standing in the hallway of Nick’s house, “<em>stepped inside a house and just felt, ‘Yesss. This is home!’? That’s what it was like for me, setting foot in here.</em>”</p>
<p>Dean goes on to show them the interior. Gushing over details. He spends a considerable amount of time in the basement, waxing poetically about the washer, dryer, and the well organized supply closet. (Not mentioning that he was the one to organize it.) Nick notes details that have been removed before filming. Things that show state/county/city names or reveal Nick’s identity. Windows are filmed from angles that barely show the outside unless they’re in the back.</p>
<p>Dean films his room. The white curtains are closed and all his lights are on, glowing in their array of colors. Dean lies down on the bed with a hand behind his head, filming with that darn selfie stick. “<em>So, I’ve always wanted a home. It’s been a secret dream of mine, right? No need to tell anyone that I’m anything but happy to ping-pong around the country since it wasn’t an option. But I wanted it, right? Make friends and stay friends. Grow up together. Just be fucking normal. So every time we moved into a new place, I’d pretend, right? All my friends had stuff on the walls, toys, stuff they’ve made. But we rarely got much time to pack, and everything I owned had to fit in one bag.</em>”</p>
<p>Nick hits pause. It’s hard to breathe. He can feel tears well up in his eyes. He can relate to this. So could Mike, Ella, and Gabe if they heard it. But as a foster kid, more often you had to pack your stuff in fucking plastic bags. Gabe had a suitcase. Nick and the others didn’t. Mike had a small backpack with his most treasured belongings, but clothes and necessities came in a trashbag like for the rest of them. It’s one of those things that reinforced how unwanted they were, and what people really thought of their worth.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get a fucking grip on yourself! You’re triggering like a damned snowflake!</em>
</p>
<p>He takes a few deep breaths, trying to stave off the tears. Once he’s a bit calmer, he hits play again.</p>
<p>“<em>So what I’d do, right, was to fake it</em>,” Dean goes on. “<em>I knew what a kids’ room should look like. I’d visited friends and seen it on TV. So the first thing I did when we moved in was to find old magazines and stuff like that, and tape up pages as posters. I didn’t care what was on them as long as it was pictures. It was like, like a stage set, you might say. To be normal. And I did that here too.</em>”</p>
<p>Nick takes continuous deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, to keep from crying again.</p>
<p>“<em>But Mr. Asshole, let’s call him Lucifer, he comes in to inspect. And he starts asking questions about the pictures. And, I’m good at thinking on my feet, bullshitting when I need to. But honestly, I hadn’t even really looked at the pictures. So I failed, right? I couldn’t explain why I’d put them up. And he says, ‘No. I need you to make this <b>your</b> home, not <b>a</b> home,’ calling me out like he could read my goddamn mind.</em>” Dean sits up, the camera tilting with him to keep filming him head on. He looks away, grinning, blinking rapidly, pressing two fingers to his eyes, pausing to take a deep breath.</p>
<p>Dean chuckles awkwardly and looks back at the camera, still smiling. “<em>Sorry, y’all. Allergies,</em>” he jokes. “<em>Anyway, Lucifer promised me I could stay here for at least two years. To me, that’s fucking monumental. It scares the hell out of me because I’m so fucking happy to be here and I like it so damn much. I’m so fucking scared he’ll break his promise and I’ll find myself kicked to the curb in a month or two. Hell, even if I am, it’d be the longest I’ve been in one place, so it wouldn’t be a waste. There’s so much going on in my life right now. As if this in itself isn't such a major happening it would occupy all of my energy on its own. Heh.</em>”</p>
<p>Dean pauses again and looks up at the ceiling with an introspective gaze, a soft, relaxed smile. He looks back at the camera. “<em>Whelp. So this is where I am now. Happy. Scared. Lost. But with hope. A small, fragile hope, like a kid praying ‘please come through for me’. Braving trust in a promise given. Trying to build good, strong relationships based on honesty and respect. And god fucking knows, I have no idea what I’m doing,</em>” he chuckles. “<em>So that’s it for now. Hang in there for me and I’ll catch y’all later. Bye.</em>”</p>
<p>Nick closes his laptop and gives in to tears. He hugs his body and rocks himself back and forth. Big, hulking sobs that tear from the depths of all his own hurt. Every broken promise, every fragile hope shattered, every disappointment and betrayal, ripping loose hitting where they once hurt and keep hurting. He relates so hard to Dean’s fear and that tentative thought that maybe, just maybe, this time it would last. Maybe this time he’d be safe and wanted. Yet he’d been so angry. Every misstep they made he’d punished harshly with violent outbursts, running away, stealing from them, or any number of bad behaviors.</p>
<p>He never stole from Chuck, though. It took years for him to trust that Chuck would come through for him. Not until his 18th birthday had come and gone and Chuck was talking to him about college without a peep about him moving out had he started accepting that maybe Chuck was the real deal. Not until Sam came into his life had he officially bestowed Chuck with the precious ‘dad’ title. It hits hard to see Dean be so open, holding out his cracked glass heart for him to break or mend. Nick knows why he was so suspicious towards Dean in the beginning (and still is, to a degree). It’s because he saw himself in Dean. It’s rattling to realize how similar their emotional experiences are when they’ve grown up so differently. Yet Dean’s nothing like him, because…</p>
<p>“How could you do it, you stupid shit!” Nick shouts at the closed laptop. “Now the whole internet will know if you get your heart broken! Everyone will see you humiliated. They’ll know you brought it on yourself. That you’re fucking worthless and unwanted and can’t do anything right!”</p>
<p>He’s hit with another wave of sobs, nose running and slimy saliva coating his mouth. Ugly-crying like a toddler on time-out. Dean’s precious and beautiful and worthy of all the good things in life. It’s Nick who’s worthless. It’s he who can’t do anything right. Who’s terrified of people seeing his heart break, of being publicly shamed. For all his bluster about not caring what people think of him, he’s lying. He cares. He’s always cared. Too damned fucking much.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sam sits down on a bench on campus. It’s the same place he sat with Steve and had a serious talk after they’d met Dean at the Anchor. He stares at his phone, knee jumping nervously. He’s only met Ella once, but their talk in the kitchen had flown so easily and she’d said things that resonated with him. She’d told him he could call if he needed to talk. He’s unsure if she really meant it.</p>
<p>He takes a deep breath to gather courage. This late, not many people are moving about. He’s outside because he doesn’t want Kevin to overhear. He finds Ella’s number and presses the call icon.</p>
<p>Several signals pass and he starts to get nervous. Is it too late to call? Is she ignoring him? Is her phone on silent?</p>
<p>But then she picks up. “Sam! What a nice surprise. Can you hold on a moment? I just have to end a call on the other line,” she says. Sam opens his mouth to say that isn’t necessary and he can call some other time but the line goes silent. It doesn’t take long, then she’s back. “Hi. Sorry about that. I was talking to Nick.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s okay. I could’ve called back some other time,” Sam flusters.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, Sam. Nick was watching YouTube videos anyway,” Ella says with a smile in her voice.</p>
<p>“Nick watches YouTube?” Sam can’t tell why that surprises him.</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. “Yes. He’s the most internet-active of my brothers. He won’t touch Facebook or Twitter with a ten-foot pole, but he’s got Vine, Tumblr, YouTube, Reddit and who knows what other apps installed on his phone. When he lived alone we often spent the evenings watching YouTube or Netflix together over the phone.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Then it must be disappointing that you don’t do it anymore.”</p>
<p>“Not at all. Dean and Steve are good for him. Nick never liked to live alone anyway. He’s much happier now, and much more prone to show his best sides. I have roommates so I’m not as dependent on him keeping me company as he was on me.”</p>
<p>Sam files that tidbit away as a treasure. Another little scrap of knowledge about his crush.</p>
<p>“That’s, that’s good then. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”</p>
<p>“Now you sound like your brother. He’s so stressed about Nick spending his money on him and Steve instead of me. But I recently got a full-time job at an animal shelter and…”</p>
<p>Sam and Ella talk about nothing in particular for a few minutes, then Sam finally gathers courage. “I, uh, I was wondering, can I ask a couple of personal questions?”</p>
<p>“Go ahead. If I feel uncomfortable about answering, I’ll tell you.”</p>
<p>Sam drags a hand through his hair and follows a bird’s flight with his gaze, a dark spot against the night-blue sky. “You, uh. You said you don’t like people touching you…”</p>
<p>“Mhm?”</p>
<p>“Was it, was it always like that?”</p>
<p>“No. How much have my brothers told you about me?”</p>
<p>“Um. They’ve said that you, um, don’t get your period like other girls,” Sam says haltingly, making Ella chuckle. “And that your parents threw you out because they wanted a boy,” he goes on, encouraged, “and that you’ve bounced from foster home to foster home. And, um, I, uh, that you’ve been, um…” Sam swallows dryly, unsure how to say it out loud.</p>
<p>“That I’ve been sexually molested, and raped?” Ella fills in for him.</p>
<p>“Yeah… sorry, if I’m not supposed to know that.”</p>
<p>“It’s no problem, Sam. I trust my brothers’ judgment when it comes to telling people they’re close to.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“It was a kindergarten teacher that molested me. It started very soon after I started kindergarten and escalated dramatically over the year I was there. By the time I was in my last month there, I’d been used in every way possible. It was discovered at a doctor’s visit, because I was bleeding so often through my anus. The doctor asked questions and I answered, ‘I’m not supposed to tell anyone because he’ll kill me.’ That put a ball in motion that sent him to jail, for which I’m grateful. All too often our abusers get away with their crimes and we aren’t believed.”</p>
<p>Sam’s gut twists uncomfortably. He stares out over the campus in the dusky light. A few college kids are walking across it far away, but he’s alone here where the bench is. In his mind, he sees that damn clown painting. He hears Dean’s voice outside call out to the friend that’s come to pick him up for school. He hears Dad’s voice, low and husky. <em>’Dad will be very angry and very disappointed in you if you reveal our special secret to anyone. And you don’t want to disappoint daddy, do you?’</em> His heart jackhammers. He doesn’t know what to answer Ella.</p>
<p>Ella doesn’t need an answer. She goes on after the brief pause. “I’ve always been a girl. I knew from the moment I could grasp that there was a difference between boys and girls. I was drawn to everything that was designed for girls and considered girly. My parents tried to discipline me out of it. It didn’t work, and I started acting out. I acted out more and more, which escalated their disciplinary actions. Once my teacher began to molest me, I got worse than ever before. Every morning before kindergarten I would fight like a fiend not to go. I once headbutted Dad so badly he broke a tooth.”</p>
<p>Sam still doesn’t have an answer. It’s not him he sees in his mind now, it’s Dean. Just a little kid. He’s had one of his tantrums and the motel room’s trashed. Dad’s looming over Dean, red-faced with veins pumping on his temples. His eyes are black but his voice is calm when he says, ‘<em>Since you’re too stupid to do as you’re told or learn from punishment, maybe I should let your little brother pay the price for your defiance this time?</em>’ Dean turns his head to the corner where Sam’s curled into a ball sniffling. Dean’s defiance is traded for utter horror.</p>
<p>“Sam? Are you there?”</p>
<p>“Y-yeah. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay. Tell me if anything I say is triggering to you? If it gets too much, say so. I can tell you some other time when we’re face to face and know you have someone to help you if you trigger. But if you want to know why I don’t handle touch well and when that came about, I think you need to hear the rest.”</p>
<p>“I, uh, it’s okay. What you’re saying makes me remember stuff. But it’s, uh, I’ve got memory gaps from my whole childhood and I’m not sure they’re actual memories or if I’ve just fabricated them? Like, I think Dean used to have these awful tantrums when I was very little. But I don’t actually remember him having them. And, and I think Dad used to hit Dean, but it’s the same thing there. I don’t recollect ever seeing it.”</p>
<p>“I see. I’m biased by my experiences, but I think those are real memories surfacing now that you’re no longer in the situation. Do you want me to stop talking about what happened to me?”</p>
<p>“No. Please, don’t. I promise I’ll say if it gets too much.”</p>
<p>“Very well. So my parents increased their discipline and often they were angry while doing it. They’d also forcefully cut my hair and throw away anything girly I got my hands on. By second grade it could be classified as severe abuse and my teachers rang the bell. The CPS contacted my parents and they refused to let me back into the house when I came home from school, wanting nothing to do with me. The CPS scooped me up soon enough, though.”</p>
<p>“That’s horrible,” Sam says. “I can’t even imagine not being allowed to come home. Dad forbade me to <em>leave</em>.”</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. “I take it you weren’t rebellious?”</p>
<p>Sam smiles at his lap and scrapes with his nail on a stain on his jeans. “No. From what I remember, the only time he hit me was when I showed him my college acceptance letter. I was so shocked. That he’d hit me hurt more than the bruises he left.”</p>
<p>“That’s often the case.”</p>
<p>“Then what happened?”</p>
<p>“I was moved from home to home. During those years I had to face all manner of abuse. I’ve been raped three times. My hair was frequently forcefully cut when I tried to grow it out, something that broke me a little every time.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got such beautiful hair,” Sam says mournfully.</p>
<p>Ella laughs. “So do you. Anyway, I was 15 when I ended up at Dad’s place. That’s where everything started to change. I was such a violent kid that schools didn’t want me, so Chuck decided to homeschool me. He’s never once misgendered me and the only times he’s used my deadname was during the adoption process when he spoke to transphobic officials. That’s when I started to change. I was in a place that was safe, where I was accepted for the one I am, and where the respect for my bodily autonomy was absolute.”</p>
<p>Ella goes on, “I didn’t understand that last part. All my life, adults had touched me against my will, sexually, violently, humiliatingly. I’d never before been made aware that I could say no without having to defend myself with violence. Somewhere deep inside, I’ve always believed that the adults had the right to do what they did to me, and I was a bad kid for refusing. And during the years I started to understand that I felt violated because I had been violated, I became more and more uncomfortable with touch. I trigger easily these days. Sometimes even when people I love touch me. That’s why my brothers and Dad lets me initiate and control any physical contact.”</p>
<p>“But… Like, um…”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“I’ve, um, I’ve never really said no. I, um,” Sam chuckles, flustered. “Okay, this must sound like the dumbest question you’ve ever heard. But, like, if I didn’t say no, can it still be, um… rape?” He holds his breath and swallows dryly, waiting for the answer.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Ella answers without missing a beat.</p>
<p>That’s what Uriel said too. It’s hard to fully believe it. He has to process what that really means. He’s been raped. It feels like a vast abyss he’s just peeking over the edge of. He’s not ready to go there right now. Instead he veers off to the reason he wanted to talk with Ella. “I, um. Before, I cou-could place myself somewhere else when, like when I had sex, right? But I can’t do it anymore. I mean, I can, sometimes. But I can’t control when. And, um, sometimes when someone touches me, or I think of someone touching me, my skin begins to crawl or numb.”</p>
<p>“Mhm. That’s what it’s like for me too.”</p>
<p>“So it’s normal?”</p>
<p>“It’s not an uncommon response to trauma and consent violations.”</p>
<p>“Can I get rid of it?”</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. “I’m sure you can, if you want to. But it’ll require a lot of unpleasant mental and emotional work. You can’t heal if you pretend that you’re not hurt. It’s like with alcoholics. The real problems don’t start until they quit drinking and have to face both the consequences of their addiction and the reason they were drinking in the first place.”</p>
<p>Sam perks up. “I started therapy,” he chirps. “I did a test online and it said I was depressed, just like you said. So Steve took me to a counselor that booked me in with a therapist. I’ve been to one session already.”</p>
<p>“That’s good, Sam. How do you feel about your therapist? Chemistry and trust is very important, so if they don’t work for you, it’s better to ask to be referred to someone else.”</p>
<p>“No, she’s great. I just felt calm inside, when I met her, you know? I want to tell her stuff. And, and, I want to bring up stuff like this too, you know? But I don’t feel comfortable talking about stuff like this with anyone,” Sam explains.</p>
<p>“Then tell her other things to start with, to build rapport. How you feel in general and work yourself closer to the harder issues when you feel you can trust her. Even if all you do one particular session is vent annoyance about a teacher, it can still be a way of building trust.”</p>
<p>Sam takes his notebook out of his pocket and writes, ‘<em>You can’t heal if you pretend you’re not hurt</em>’. “Okay, I’ll do that. I gotta go now or I’m gonna miss my bedtime. Is it okay if I call you sometimes? You’ve given me so much to think about and you’re so easy to talk to. I know you have your own problems, but…”</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. “I told you you could call me and I meant it. You’re welcome to call me even if you just want to chat about nonsense too. My brothers have declared you as part of the family and I’d like to get to know you better. If I should have a particularly bad day where I can’t handle hearing your problems too, I’ll tell you straight away. It won’t mean you’re a bother, it will only mean that I can’t cope that particular day, okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. That sounds great. Thanks. For everything.”</p>
<p>They say their goodbyes and Sam gets up from the bench to go home. It’s already 10:15 and his bedtime is 10:30. His head is whirling with confusing thoughts. Thoughts about bodily autonomy, rape, consent, his dad and Dean. He thinks about Ella getting the don’t-touch-me feeling even from her family, and how that isn’t abnormal. That it’s normal to feel like he does. Even when Nick touches him.</p>
<p>He gets home to Kevin complaining because it’s lights out already. Not that Sam minds if he sits studying with his light on, but Kevin had started using Sam’s lights out as a signal that it’s bedtime for him too.</p>
<p>Sam lies awake thinking about how talking to Uriel had resulted in Zachariah, Abby, and Alastair being arrested. That feels good. Back when Uriel talked to him after the BDSM party he’d recommended Sam not press charges because of the negative consequences to both of them. Part of Sam had thought Uriel was just another adult that didn’t want to get caught. Yet he came through. He’d done exactly what he said he’d do.</p>
<p>He thinks about what Dean said about consent after he’d gotten rid of Jane. That if there was no safe way to say ‘no’, and if one was afraid of the consequences of saying ‘no’, then it’s rape.</p>
<p>Consequences like the CPS taking Dean away from him.</p>
<p>Again he gets that feeling of hovering over a vast abyss. It’s terrifying. Dad loves him and he misses Dad. So why do thoughts like this cause such terror?</p>
<p>He thinks about what he wants to bring up in his next session with Layla Rourke. He’ll bring up that some things he wants to talk about are illegal, and ask what she’s allowed to tell others. He’ll tell her he has things he thinks he wants to talk about but don’t dare, not yet. And he wants to talk about bodily autonomy, what it really means, and if children can really have it too? Surely, parents have the right to do whatever they want? Or do they? He wants to read her the quote, ‘You can’t heal if you pretend you’re not hurt,’ and discuss it. Because he thinks he’s pretending to himself.</p>
<p>With those thoughts, sleep finally finds him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dean’s head is foggy. He’s so damn tired he nearly tripped over his own feet, and the ground feels spongy. He wants nothing more than to go upstairs and crash, but he heads to the kitchen to make preparations for tomorrow. Sandwiches for him, Sam, Kevin, and Steve so they can eat breakfast before school starts. He fucking hates going to the gym in the morning. He is an early riser, by all means, but the gym culture doesn’t agree with him.</p>
<p>He’s focused on slicing tomatoes for the sandwiches when there’s movement in the corner of his eye, causing him to startle and nearly cut himself. “<em>Fuck!</em>” He laughs awkwardly when he sees Nick standing in the doorway in ratty grey sweatpants and a military green tee, looking at him with an expressionless face. “Jeezus, you scared me.” Dean crosses the distance between them for the greeting-kiss. He aims for the cheek but Nick turns his head deliberately to press soft lips against Dean’s. Dean saw it coming but he’s a weak, weak man, pretending that it’s normal lest Nick would stop doing things like this.</p>
<p>Dean pulls back and strolls back to the cutting-board. “What are you doing up? It’s nearly 3:30. You should be sleeping,” he scolds good-naturedly, plastering on his chipper mask to hide his exhaustion. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”</p>
<p>“No.” Nick just stands there, doesn’t elaborate. A silent ghost with piercing blue, red-rimmed eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait a second. Red-rimmed?</em>
</p>
<p>Dean puts the knife down and turns towards Nick. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head. “Do you need a hug?”</p>
<p>Dean grins. “Nah, man, I’m good, I―”</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe he’s the one needing a hug but don’t know how to ask for it?</em>
</p>
<p>“―Honey, I <em>always</em> need a hug,” he says jokingly, changing his initial response.</p>
<p>Nick walks towards him and holds out his arms. Obediently, Dean steps into the offered embrace.</p>
<p>It’s a real hug. One of those warm, all-encompassing, that you just want to melt into. Nick’s warm and solid. He smells good, of sweat and bodywash. The only sound is the ticking of seconds passing from the clock on the wall over the doorway. “Uh… Not for nothing, but this is getting kinda awkward,” Dean chuckles.</p>
<p>“That’s a you-problem,” Nick counters and makes no move to let go.</p>
<p>Dean laughs. “Yeah, alright,” he says with soft amusement and gives in, fully relaxing, bending his neck to rest his forehead in the crook of Nick’s neck, closing his eyes.</p>
<p>One of Nick’s hands cups his neck, and Nick starts rocking them softly as second upon second tick by.</p>
<p>Dean loses track of time. Suddenly he feels like crying, not knowing why. He doesn’t think he’s ever been hugged like this by anyone but Dad. Barely even in a lover’s embrace. He stopped letting Dad hug him like this after that strange, uncomfortable incident when he was thirteen. He doesn’t like to think about that incident so his mind skids over it untouched.</p>
<p>
  <em>Is this normal? Do friends hug each other like this and it just passed me by? Or did something awful just happen to Nick today and he doesn’t want to tell me what? Cuz he ain’t drunk. I can’t smell alcohol on him.</em>
</p>
<p>“Let’s go to bed, darling,” Nick whispers into Dean’s hair.</p>
<p>“The tomatoes will spoil.”</p>
<p>“Then we’ll have something to feed the compost with,” Nick mumbles.</p>
<p>Dean chuckles but doesn’t open his eyes. “We don’t <em>have</em> a compost.”</p>
<p>“I’ll build one tomorrow,” Nick says and starts loosening his grip on Dean. Dean wants to cling.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jeezus, I’m needy.</em>
</p>
<p>But Nick doesn’t let go fully. He bends his legs, sinking to a squat wrapping his arms around Dean’s thighs and stands up.</p>
<p>Dean laughs, folds over and supports himself with his hands in the small of Nick’s back, thrilling at what’s about to happen. It’s the third time Nick has carried him upstairs now and Dean fucking loves it. It’s a thing that can become a habit, as far as he’s concerned. “I can walk. You know that, right?” he giggles.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Nick hums skeptically. “One would think so. But if I’d let you walk you’d just go back to the cutting-board,” he says and sets his course towards the stairs.</p>
<p>“You’re damned strong for a man who never goes to a gym,” Dean states. “I ain’t no lightweight.”</p>
<p>“I carry stuff like this all day, darling. I’ve got working-muscles.”</p>
<p>“It ain’t good for your back,” Dean points out and holds his breath as Nick starts going up the stairs, one arm firmly around Dean’s legs and the other on the bannister. This is one hell of a trust-exercise.</p>
<p>“I used to shoot poison straight into my own veins. You can’t trust me to take good care of myself,” Nick muses, as the dead-drop Dean’s staring at grows vaster.</p>
<p>Dean giggles but doesn’t respond lest their voices would wake Steve up.</p>
<p>Nick reaches the landing and heads for Dean’s room. He walks inside, pulls the comforter to the side, and heaves Dean over his shoulder, eliciting an involuntary whoop. Dean covers his mouth to silence his giggles as Nick proceeds to unbuckle Dean’s belt and pull off his jeans and socks. Then Nick surprises Dean by getting on the bed, manhandle Dean to lie on his side, slot close and pull the comforter over the both of them. “Goodnight, darling,” he says and tucks an arm around Dean’s midriff.</p>
<p>Technically, Dean could tell Nick to get the hell out of his bed. But his head is spinning from how tired he is, Nick is warm and comfortable against his back, and they <em>have</em> slept like this before. “Night, honey,” he says and closes his eyes. He’s asleep in seconds.</p>
<p>….And wakes up confused within seconds too from what it feels like. There’s an awful lot of noise. He can hear a steady beeping from afar. ‘Playing with the boys’ by Kenny Loggins is playing from somewhere on the floor. It takes him a while to realize it’s the song he chose as his alarm-sound since it’s one of his feel-good, pep songs. There’s also a loud banging.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck sake, I’m coming in!</em>” Steve shouts, followed by the sound of the door opening and the beeping getting louder.</p>
<p>Dean opens his grainy eyes in time to see Steve freshly showered and frowning, grabbing a pillow from the bottom of the bed, throwing it behind Dean’s head. Nick whines in protest and burrows his head between Dean’s shoulder blades.</p>
<p>“Fuck sake, you two. Nick, your alarm has been ringing for ten minutes now. You’re gonna be late if you don’t get your lazy ass out of bed,” Steve says.</p>
<p>Nick whines again but reluctantly lets go of Dean and sits up.</p>
<p>Dean lies still for a beat before his sleep-deprived brain is properly hooked up. “Shit! The sandwiches!” he exclaims and rolls out of bed, grabbing his jeans from the floor while barreling towards the door, heart jumping in his chest.</p>
<p>Steve puts an arm on the doorpost, blocking Dean’s way. “Already made them.”</p>
<p>“For Kevin too?”</p>
<p>“For the little nerd too,” Steve confirms.</p>
<p>Dean relaxes with a deep exhale. “Phew. Thanks, Steve. I’m so relieved I could kiss you,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Steve holds up his hands and backs up a step. “Oo<em>oh</em>, I think you’ve done enough of that already,” he remarks with a pointed look over Dean’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Behind Dean, Nick chuckles. “I fucking wish. Please tell me you made coffee too?”</p>
<p>“You know it, bro,” Steve responds then looks at Dean. “We leave in fifteen,” he says then wanders off.</p>
<p>Steve drives the car. Dean’s grateful. He’s too fucking tired. The air in the car is tense and quiet. Dean side-eyes Steve, watching his closed-off expression. “So… You got something you wanna say?” Dean says carefully, thinking Steve’s gonna say something about finding him and Nick in bed.</p>
<p>Steve takes a deep breath and Dean braces for the worst judgment. “Yeah. I’m so fucking nervous about starting my new job on Monday,” Steve says. “I feel like throwing up. What if I fuck up? I’ve never had a job before.”</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Man, I’m too fucking self-centered.</em>
</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it, bro. You’ll feel lost and floundering, but there’ll be people telling you what to do. And we’ve been working together since you moved in, and I’m telling you, you’ll do great. You’re smart and hard-working. You’ll do fine,” Dean assures. This is easy. This means he doesn’t have to consider if he and Nick had done something wrong yesterday.</p>
<p>“You ever worked construction before?”</p>
<p>The rest of the car ride they discuss Steve’s new job. To Dean’s relief, not a single word about Nick is mentioned.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is a good chapter, y'all. Sam is taking his first steps towards healing. Nick's also making great progress.<br/>Healing, when it comes to mental health, isn't a linear process. We have periods where everything seems to go well and periods when the tiniest failure will set us off. Sam's entering something of a rush, realizing that he isn't necessarily some kind of dense freak. That he's normal. He's toeing the line to admit to himself that maybe what John did to him was wrong. He's touching the thought then shying away, but he wants to get better and he <i>wants</i> to talk. He wants to tell people how he feels and he's lucky to have good people around him that can help him, understand him, and validate him. Ella is important to him because the touching thing is a big problem to him and he's wondering if there's something wrong with him. But here's someone who can say he's not a freak and who understands what he's talking about. Ella, of course, knows everything her brothers have figured out about Sam because they're damned little gossip girls the bunch of them. It's one of the things that make her speak so freely about her experiences. </p>
<p>Nick's another matter. If he'd try to go to a regular therapist now he'd clam up as much as he ever did. But in his wish to give the little baby birds in his backyard a second chance at a happy life, he's inadvertently kicked off another stage in his own growth.</p>
<p>Also, a very subtle choice on my behalf that I don't expect anyone to actually pick up on. Uriel was the first one to suggest to Sam that he'd been raped and Sam reacted with vehement denial. So Uriel got to show up in the chapter where Sam starts being open to the idea too. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. BOUNDARIES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mike says something that freaks Dean out. Sam's having mental health problems.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warnings:</b><br/>Panic attack<br/>long author's note about science. ^^'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nick comes walking out the door as soon as Dean parks the car. He looks excited and full of shit. “Hello, darling. How was your day?” he asks as he walks the few last steps towards Dean.</p>
<p>“Let’s just say I had one and leave it at that,” Dean responds and leans in for the, now customary, kiss-greeting. Nick pecks him briefly on the lips not even pretending to aim anywhere else. Whelp. It’s a thing now. Worse things could happen.</p>
<p>“You’re home early,” Nick points out and raises an eyebrow making it a question while he grabs Dean by the wrist and starts hauling him towards the side of the house.</p>
<p>“Sammy’s got therapy. Ain’t gonna sit around and wait just to cram in another hour of studying. That fucker reads so damn fast he’s nearly caught up on the reading anyway,” Dean explains. “Where are we going?”</p>
<p>“You’ll see,” Nick says throwing an impish grin over his shoulder. They round the corner of the house and Nick lets Dean go, stepping aside.</p>
<p>Dean spots it. There, by the wall, is a large, wooden box with a lid.</p>
<p>“Go on. Open it,” Nick urges.</p>
<p>Dean gives him a dubious look, but does as he’s told. He walks up to the box and carefully opens it. It’s empty. Except, there, at the bottom, is one sad, half-sliced tomato. He bursts out laughing. It’s a compost box. “You sonnova bitch, you did it.”</p>
<p>“I told you I would,” Nick beams. “Now, come on, before your boyfriend realizes you’re here. I’ve got another surprise for you. Just unlock your phone and hand it to me,” he says.</p>
<p>Dean unlocks and hands Nick his phone. Everything important is already uploaded to the cloud. With all the videos he’s been shooting he’ll have to dish out for more storage soon. Or maybe get another hard drive? Since he isn’t moving all the time he could get permanent storage. He’ll have to think about it.</p>
<p>Nick leads the way towards the house while fiddling with Dean’s phone. “Be quiet when we get inside. I don’t want them to hear us.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” Dean says. Nick opens the door and Dean can hear music from the music room. Mike’s singing and Dean’s yearning to go there, but he keeps his mouth shut and follows Nick upstairs.</p>
<p>Nick opens Dean’s door and steps aside with an expectant expression.</p>
<p>Dean goes inside and looks around. “Dude! You hid the lights behind skirtings and the cornice. Looks awesome!”</p>
<p>“That’s not all I did. Watch this,” Nick grins and does something on Dean’s phone. Every hidden led strip changes to a different color.</p>
<p>“<em>Woah!</em>”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Nick agrees. “And you can pre-program ten settings, so if you want to create a certain ambiance, like sunset, or…” He hands over the phone and explains how it works. “Now, come on, Mikey has been looking at the clock more often than a kid on a road trip needs to pee.”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “I thought you jam on Wednesdays?”</p>
<p>“We switched days. You’re working Wednesdays and we can’t have you miss all the rehearsals.”</p>
<p>“Was the adapter a bribe to smooth my feathers down because you’re gonna force me to sing?” Dean asks as they make their way down the stairs.</p>
<p>“Nope. No force will be used just yet.”</p>
<p>They reach the music room. The door’s open. Steve’s playing drums, Gabe bass, and Mike guitar. Dean stops dumb-struck, because Mike’s in his full concert getup. Black jeans with a studded belt, a black tank top, rockstar hairdo, and sooty makeup. “Fuck me,” he breathes.</p>
<p>Mike notices him and stops singing. “Dean! You’re early! Hi, I―” His face falls when he sees Dean staring. “Is it too much? I can go wash it off,” he flusters nervously and touches his cheek just below an eye.</p>
<p>“What? <em>Nonono.</em>” Dean is by Mike’s side in two short strides. “Don’t you dare,” he says and cups Mike’s head with both of his. “Apparently, I’ve got a kink. Yep, it’s a kink. You look hot as hell.” He pulls Mike in for a kiss, belly flip-flopping pleasantly when their lips touch and Mike melts into the kiss. He’s missed Mike. He’s long since learned that there’s no use in pining, but anytime he meets someone he likes as much as he likes Mike, the longing hits like a truck. One or two days a week isn’t enough.</p>
<p>“Get a room,” Gabe jokes.</p>
<p>“They’re in a room, jackass,” Nick deadpans.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles into the kiss, his tongue soft against Dean’s, and the electric guitar digs into Dean’s belly, trapped between them since Dean pulled him as close as he can.</p>
<p>He could’ve stood there kissing all day, but Nick tears him off by his collar. “Enough. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Now, let’s get to it.”</p><hr/>
<p>“Are you gonna stop playing with that thing?” Mike asks with a chuckle. He’s leaned against the wall strumming pleasant melodies on Dean’s guitar, hair a disarray and his naked body reflecting the different light settings Dean’s trying out. The dark makeup has smudged further while they had sex but it only serves to make him look even better. Dean considers getting a black eye-pen to see if he too will look as kickass as Mike does.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just a moment. Damn, it’s so annoying. I’ve got so many things I want to do, but they all require being awake,” Dean complains. He thinks he showed extreme restraint not to experiment with the light-app the moment they entered the room. It may have had something to do with how Mike was kissing him and pulling at his clothes. The man’s a fucking drug. Dean probably couldn’t quit him if he tried. It wasn’t hard for Mike to distract him. But after they had sex Mike left to go to the bathroom and Dean’s been sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the ground, trying out light-combinations ever since, content to just have him close.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. “Really? I must be getting old. I far more often wish for a nap and some peace and quiet.”</p>
<p>Dean smiles at his screen. Sleep would be nice too. His smile fades, replaced by a troubled frown. He turns his head to look at Mike. “Hey, so… why is Nick giving me all these things?” he asks and wiggles his phone in Mike’s direction to indicate what he’s talking about. “Like, what does he want from me? I can’t fucking figure it out. I don’t wanna seem ungrateful or anything. I’ve accepted my share of handouts before. But gifts usually come with strings attached, and, I’mma bit apprehensive, to be honest.”</p>
<p>Mike gets off the bed to put the guitar back on its rack. “I’d say you’re giving him what he wants already,” he says with a lopsided smile and comes back to bed. He crawls up behind Dean and wraps his arms around him, putting his chin on Dean’s shoulder and his legs on either side of Dean’s. “Nick hates living alone and he loves to give gifts. He’s been complaining about how Steve doesn’t need anything. And back when we all lived at home he’d bring Ella gifts all the time. Sometimes small ones, sometimes big,” he says and sways them slowly. “He’s a bit like a dog. Doesn’t really know how to show affection so instead he brings every stick and toy he can find,” he adds with a chuckle.</p>
<p>“I think he’s pretty awesome at showing affection,” Dean remarks and drops his phone on the bed, covering Mike’s arms around his midriff with his own.</p>
<p>A tiny frown wrinkles Mike’s brow and he smiles bemusedly. “How so?”</p>
<p>“Hey, maybe I’m just misinterpreting him. But, like, when I come home in the middle of the night I’m dead on my feet, right? But my mind is still running down the checklist of everything I need to do, and… um. Back in the days the outcome, if I failed to do something, wasn’t always pretty. So I’ll head straight for the kitchen to clean up, cook, or whatever. But he’s been showing up, hoisting me over a shoulder, then fucking carrying me up the stairs to dump me in bed.”</p>
<p>Mike laughs. “Yes, that’s definitely a sign of affection with Nick written all over it.”</p>
<p>“That’s how we ended up falling asleep together when you found us in bed. He stopped me from cleaning up after your party then lay down beside me to talk. I know you didn’t like that, but―”</p>
<p>“Dean,” Mike interrupts. “I’m <em>happy</em> you two get along so well. Sure, I get jealous sometimes. It’s because he gets to see you so often and I don’t. It’s not like I think he and you would ever <em>do</em> anything.”</p>
<p>“Good. Because we wouldn’t. But do you know anything he wants? Like, that I could give him back?”</p>
<p>“Aside from mowing his lawn, renovating and upgrading his house, and building a barbecue?” Mike counters dryly with that charming lopsided smirk of his.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Aside from that. It doesn’t count because it benefits me and Steve too. These damn lights he fixed for me don’t benefit him at all. He’ll just come in here and grimace at how tacky he finds them.”</p>
<p>Mike snickers and kisses Dean’s naked shoulder. “I’ll admit, when you first set up your room I didn’t really see the allure of your decor. But you’ve changed something every time I come here, and now it’s starting to look like something you’d find if you google ‘gamer room’. It’s getting pretty stylish, actually. It’s growing on me.”</p>
<p>“I bet it is. I saw you looking as much as I did in the mirror while you were boning me,” Dean grins. “Now, scoot. I’m gonna charge my phone and then we can lay down.”</p>
<p>“What can I say, sweetheart, it’s a luxury to see both your back and front at once,” Mike says as he frees himself and lets Dean crawl over to the bedside table to connect his charger.</p>
<p>They lay down and pull the comforter over themselves. Mike’s a pleasant weight on Dean’s chest, an arm and a leg slung over Dean locking him in place, and his head tucked in so Dean can bury his nose in Mike’s wild locks and inhale his scent. “Do you know anything Nick needs? Anything I can give him in return for everything he gives me?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“Not really. When he wants something, he gets it himself. The only thing I can think of that he wants isn’t something you can afford,” Mike answers. All of him oozes lax contentment. It’s contagious, making Dean feel how tired he is.</p>
<p>“So? What is it?” Dean demands.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. “You know how much he loves his motorcycle? He got to buy it for practically nothing from a former friend. It was more or less a bribe to keep his mouth shut. Nick’s always loved motorcycles. He’s been saving up to buy a custom Harley Davidson. You know, one of those that when you see them on the street, ‘Born to be wild’ automatically starts playing in your head?”</p>
<p>“Really? Then I’ll give him one. Don’t tell him, okay?”</p>
<p>Dean feels Mike’s smile against his skin. “You’re gonna have to get yourself a couple of more jobs if you’re gonna pull that off.”</p>
<p>Dean puts a finger under Mike’s chin and forces him to look up to meet Dean’s gaze. “Babe. I’m a mechanic. Specifically one that restores old vehicles. All I need is to buy a dinged-up piece of junk, find some tools, a place to work on it, and time.”</p>
<p>“<em>Find</em> some tools?” Mike asks pointedly with mirth dancing in his eyes and lips twitching.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you know, lying around unused.”</p>
<p>“Where? Perhaps in a garage or an auto shop after closing, hmm? Like you ‘found’ gravel lying around unused on a truck at a building site?”</p>
<p>Dean grins. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But, yeah, maybe.”</p>
<p>Mike laughs delightedly. “I know that shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does.”</p>
<p>“Hey, the bike itself needs to be bought and squeaky clean, but for the rest?” Dean shrugs with a cocky smirk.</p>
<p>Mike giggles, heaves himself up to plant a kiss on Dean’s lips, then holds himself above Dean, looking down at him with a soft smile and adoring eyes. “I love you.”</p>
<p>Dean’s breath hitches. His belly swoops. Part of him wants to get out of bed and run down to his car and go. Another part is melting, vibrating, wanting to hear it again and again.</p>
<p>Mike sinks down on Dean’s chest again. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it.”</p>
<p>“No, no. It’s okay. You’ve already told me you’re in love with me. It just hits differently phrased like that,” Dean assures and pets Mike over the hair self-soothingly. “I, I, I, I’m not ready to say it back yet. At least not the way you want to hear it.” Dean huffs a flustered laugh. “Look who’s stuttering now,” he chuckles self-consciously.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles awkwardly so Dean kisses his forehead.</p>
<p>“So how about you?” Dean asks, changing the subject as if he isn’t replaying the love-declaration over and over in his head, heart jackhammering.</p>
<p>“How about me what?”</p>
<p>“If you could have anything, what would you wish for? I mean, except, um, except…”</p>
<p>“Except you lying to me about your feelings by saying it back?” Mike answers with dry amusement. “I don’t know. Like Nick, I buy what I need or want. Unlike Nick, I don’t have anything I’ve been dreaming of. Unless you count Cas, of course.”</p>
<p>“Cas. Your brother? Castiel?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I’ve searched for him, but he’s well and truly gone. And maybe that’s for the better? Maybe he doesn’t remember me? Maybe he has no interest in being reunited? I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“I’ll find him for you, babe. I promise,” Dean vows.</p>
<p>“I appreciate the thought, Sweetheart, but I’ve exhausted every channel. The only thing left to do is call every James Williams and James Johnson in the country and ask if they’re him, and he might not even be in the country anymore.”</p>
<p>“Nah, I’ll find him. Just you wait. I’ve got my ways.”</p>
<p>They lie talking a while more until eyelids get too heavy and speech slurred. When Dean falls asleep, he’s still replaying ‘I love you’ on a loop.</p><hr/>
<p>Mike backs up out of the van, carrying the other side of the two-seater sofa Nick had found on Craigslist. It was free for anyone who could come get it. Nick thinks it’s a great find despite being slightly rundown.</p>
<p>“Ugh,” Mike complains. “I think you could’ve waited until the guys came home and let them help you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, shut your weak-ass mouth, Mikey. It’s a surprise for them. If they had to carry it themselves it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it? Besides, this is the only thing I need help carrying. I can handle the armchair myself,” Nick grumps back. It’s not <em>that</em> heavy. But it will go a long way seating the swarm of post-teens invading his house every weekend. Showing Steve his friends are welcome is one of the few things he can do for Steve. Nick’s damn happy about Steve’s friends coming out here. Not just because he enjoys how lively his house has become, but because it shows genuine care from Steve’s friends. The house is far from where most of them live, and it isn’t nearly as convenient to come here as going to a bar would be.</p>
<p>“Dammit, Gabe, a little help would be nice!” Mike yells, head turned to look behind him as he backs one tiny step at a time. Nick rolls his eyes. Mike’s being a pissbaby about everything today. Another day carrying a fucking loveseat wouldn’t even get a grunt out of his brother.</p>
<p>“I am helping! I’m holding the door open!” Gabe yells back.</p>
<p>Mike mutters something unintelligible that might be curses judging by his sour expression. He’d barely said a word during the ride to pick up the furniture.</p>
<p>“So who pissed in your gay cheerios today?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>“My <em>what</em>?”</p>
<p>“Fruitloops, jackass. What’s up with you?” Nick probes impatiently as they reach the door and have to tilt the couch to get it through.</p>
<p>“Nothing.”</p>
<p>“So it’s got nothing to do with you lying to your co-workers by calling Dean your boyfriend?” Nick asks. He’d picked Mike up at work and heard a comment about it.</p>
<p>“<em>I didn’t!</em>” Mike snaps. “It’s all Dean’s fault. He picked me up at work for a date and talked to Kayla, the receptionist. She somehow got into her head we were boyfriends. I told her we weren’t, and you know her, she’s smart enough to believe me. But she’s also a total gossip so she’d already told several people. Amongst others, <em>Janine</em>.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers, hearing Gabe snigger along behind him. “Oh no.”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Mike says, widening his eyes with a petulant twist to his lips. “But Janine wasn’t satisfied with what she’d heard so, <em>as usual</em>, she embellished. And now the whole office knows I’ve got a boyfriend I don’t have.”</p>
<p>Nick and Gabe laugh.</p>
<p>“It’s not funny. It gets worse,” Mike says, putting the couch down.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m all ears,” Nick says delightedly, sets down his end of the couch and rounds it to sit down leaned against the armrest, feet on the seat, facing Mike who leans his elbows against the backrest. Gabe scurries to the kitchen followed by the sound of beer bottles being opened.</p>
<p>Mike takes a deep breath. “Charlie called me.”</p>
<p>“Bradbury?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Apparently, one of the guys down in tech speaks to her regularly and he’d told her I had a boyfriend. So she called me to scold me for not telling her myself and not keeping in touch in general. I didn’t really think before I spun my chair towards the window to talk to her. I definitely didn’t remember to shut the door first. Instead, I ended up gushing about Dean like some damn idiot, and when I finished my call several co-workers stood in the doorway grinning at me as if my stupid gushing was somehow proof I was lying about Dean not being my boyfriend.”</p>
<p>Nick laughs and Gabe comes sniggering carrying three beers for them. He hands one to Nick and Mike each. “That isn’t your fault,” Gabe agrees.</p>
<p>Mike takes a swig of his beer, runs a hand through his hair so it stands up whichever way, then hangs his head tiredly. “It gets worse. This morning I got called into my boss’ office. We’re having an office party to intermingle with that big client we’re all working our asses off for. Apparently, one of the owners of that company is gay so LGBT issues is a big thing for this company. My boss wants me to bring my boyfriend to the party to show the client how forward we are. I was about to tell him <em>we aren’t boyfriends</em>, but then he leaned forward conspiratorially and said that if me and my boyfriend made a good impression there’d be a hefty bonus in my paycheck.”</p>
<p>Nick loses it laughing and Gabe covers his mouth, shoulders jumping in silent amusement.</p>
<p>“Wow. There’s never a boring moment with you two,” Gabe says. “Nick finally calms down and starts acting like a normal, functioning adult. But then you decide to take up the torch and create drama.”</p>
<p>“It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it,” Nick sniggers.</p>
<p>Mike groans. “Guess what? It gets worse. Yesterday I fucked things up with Dean.”</p>
<p>Nick sincerely doubts that. It doesn’t line up with what Dean said this morning. When Nick went down to the kitchen Dean had already been there, frying eggs and bacon to make sandwiches for all of them, wearing a relaxed smile, singing ‘Collide’ by Howie Day softly to himself. Nick asked him if he’d had a good night and he’d answered, ‘Yeah. I’m so damn glad Mike dropped all that bullshit lying.’</p>
<p>“What did you do?” Gabe asks with a wide, anticipatory grin and grabs his beanbag, pulling it closer to sit down.</p>
<p>“He’d just said something really sweet that really showed off his generous nature. I was so overwhelmed by my feelings I told him I loved him. You should’ve seen his face,” Mike says mournfully. “For a moment he looked like I told him I’d drowned his puppy and then he got all awkward.”</p>
<p>Like the good brothers they are, Nick and Gabe laugh until Mike’s lips twitch and he huffs in self-deprecating amusement.</p>
<p>“He already knows you’re in love with him, Mikey,” Nick points out when he’s stopped laughing.</p>
<p>“Yes, but he said the words hit differently when I said ‘I love you’.”</p>
<p>Nick shifts to pull a leg under himself. “That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. He often refers to himself as needy, okay? I know everything about being needy. If people aren’t paying attention to me I get restless. Not that I’d ever admit it, but that’s another matter,” Nick says. “Dean’s the same. So I don’t think that telling him you love him will scare him away as long as your words and actions coincide. That boy <em>yearns</em> for positive attention. And unlike me, he spurns negative attention. Just look at how quickly he got rid of Christine.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Gabe agrees. “Plus, you’re the one who told us he’d said it isn’t a principle thing not wanting a relationship. And we don’t know if anyone’s ever told him they love him like that. A little freakout doesn’t mean you’ve blown your chances.”</p>
<p>Mike looks pensive for a beat. “So you don’t think I’ve blown my chances?”</p>
<p>“No. He was singing ‘Collide’ by Howie Day this morning when I saw him. He seemed happy. Give it some fucking time,” Nick says.</p>
<p>Mike lets out a deep breath and relaxes. “Thank God. What song did you say? I have to look it up.” He takes his phone out of his pocket, comes around to sit down on the loveseat and googles the lyrics. “He sang this? That’s so unfair. Why do <em>you</em> get to hear him sing?” he whines.</p>
<p>“If you’re gonna be a little bitch about it, he’s got one cover up on his YouTube channel,” Nick informs him.</p>
<p>“His what?”<br/>
“His what?”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers, thrilled at his brothers’ reaction. Gabe looks excited and Mike surprised. “Oh, I’m sorry. You didn’t know?” Nick says innocently as if he himself hadn’t just found out.</p>
<p>“No, I sure as hell didn’t know,” Gabe enthuses. “All I know is that he updates the Instagram account I made for him with at least one picture daily.”</p>
<p>“He’s got Instagram?” Mike asks, wide-eyed.</p>
<p>Gabe puts his beer on the floor and gets up from the beanbag, fiddling with his phone. “Here. I’ll show you.” He holds out his phone to Mike.</p>
<p>Mike looks at whatever pictures there are and makes a suffering sound. “Holy shit. Oh my god. These are so good!” His head snaps up to lock an accusing gaze on Nick. “Did you take these pictures without telling me?”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “No. Why the hell would you think that?”</p>
<p>“Because they’re so good! Jesus, I remember back in the days when your camera never left your damn hands. And those pictures you took of me in college was ultimately what convinced me I wasn’t ugly anymore.”</p>
<p>“Now, hold up,” Nick says, holding up his hands. “You were never ugly. You were just not your type. Furthermore I’ve barely touched my camera in years. How fucking could I? Gabe keeps fucking stealing it all the time.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you should?” Gabe suggests. “Anytime anyone’s taken a picture Dean’s photobombed them and asking them to forward the pic to him,” he says and takes his phone back.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, give that back!” Mike protests.</p>
<p>“No. You can follow him on your own damn phone,” Gabe argues and retreats, holding his phone out of reach from Mike.</p>
<p>Mike stops advancing on Gabe to grab his own phone again. “Okay. How do I install Instagram?” he asks, earning another bout of laughter until Gabe takes pity on him and goes to help him while Nick’s still sniggering at Mike’s lack of proficiency when it comes to social media and phone apps.</p>
<p>Nick gets why Mike’s so excited by Dean’s account. If Sam had an Instagram account like it, Nick would be all over it. The photos aren’t inherently suggestive in any way. Well, most aren’t. Most are silly little everyday selfies, like Dean grinning at the camera holding up a cup at Starbucks where they’ve spelt his name ‘Deen’, or with his arms around a dog he got the chance to pet. Others are more modelesque where he’s posing like a damn pro, leaned against a vintage car or something else. What they’ve got in common is great, deliberate lighting that shows Dean from his best side. Perfect for a crush to drool over.</p>
<p>“So what’s his YouTube?” Gabe asks when he moves away, leaving Mike to look at Dean’s pictures with a pining expression.</p>
<p>“Yes, and why hasn’t he told me about it?” Mike asks distractedly.</p>
<p>“He didn’t actually tell me,” Nick admits, “Ella did. I think he’s gone out of his way to hide it from us. His first video was a coming out video that he sent to all of his old contacts to know who to cut out of his life. Ella’s roommate received the link. Wait, I’ll send it to you.”</p>
<p>“That’s not why you come out,” Mike remarks, not tearing his eyes away from his phone. “You come out to people hoping that they’ll put up with you despite your sexual orientation.”</p>
<p>“Not according to Dean,” Nick says while he goes into his emails to forward the link Ella sent. “He makes it clear that it’s his acceptance you need to get, not the other way around. And he’s only answered two rejecting comments. One where he said, ‘Bye Felicia!’ and one where he said, ‘Such a shame, since you’re so damned cute, Joey. Whelp, there’s more fish in the sea, I guess,’ and put a flirty smiley after it. Joey’s been commenting on every one of his videos so with Dean always responding it’s starting to look more like locker room banter more than anything else.”</p>
<p>“I don’t like Joey,” Mike mutters then chuckles along with the rest of them. “Okay, which video is the singing one?”</p>
<p>“The one named ‘Singing Sideways,’” Nick responds and gets up to go to the kitchen, bringing his beer. He hears Dean’s voice ring out from Mike’s phone. “<em>Hey y’all. I, uh, I ain’t having a great day today, and there are a lot of thinky thoughts going on in the old noggin’. I have no idea what I’m doing. But y’all been saying you’ve missed hearing me sing, so I figured, I’d combine my bad day with honoring your request. Sorry ‘bout the sound quality. I ain’t yet got the equipment for a decent music recording.</em>” It’s followed by Dean playing the guitar, soon launching into singing ‘Sideways’ by Citizen Cope.</p>
<p>They really should invest in good equipment to record music. They could send out demos to places where they hope to get hired to perform at. Nick puts it on his to-buy list and sits down at the kitchen table. He takes a swig of his beer and sends a text to Dean: <tt>Has your set started yet? We need to talk.</tt> He phrased it the most angst-triggering way he could to lure out a quick response. He’s smart like that.</p>
<p>Dean calls within seconds. “Heya, honey. S’up?”</p>
<p>“Mike has a small dilemma,” Nick says, talking quietly even if he thinks Mike will be properly distracted by Dean’s YouTube. He goes on to tell Dean what Mike told them went down at his workplace. Dean’s sniggering and giggling at the retelling, which is what Nick’s come to expect from him. Dean’s got excellent humor, after all. Nick tells him about the offer Mike’s boss gave Mike.</p>
<p>“Will there be food?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“Hold on,” Nick says and covers the mic with a hand. “Hey, Mike! Will they serve food at the office party?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Mike hollers back.</p>
<p>“How about an open bar?” Nick shouts.</p>
<p>“We always have an open bar at our parties! You know that already!”</p>
<p>Nick removes his hand and puts the phone back to his ear. “Did you hear that? Both food and an open bar.”</p>
<p>“Alright. When is the party?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>Nick once again removes the phone from his ear to yell, “Mike, Dean wonders when the party is?”</p>
<p>There’s a beat of silence then the sound of frantic scrambling before Mike shows up in the doorway with wide eyes. “You <em>called him</em>?”</p>
<p>“Of course, I called him, jackass,” Nick says impatiently. “The alternative would be you angsting over whether or not he’d get mad until it’s too late for him to put in for time off.”</p>
<p>“He’s not mad?”</p>
<p>From the phone Dean’s voice says, “Why would I be mad? Fake dating is a thing,” showing he can hear them both loud and clear.</p>
<p>“At least on Tumblr,” Nick answers, sniggering along when that makes Dean chuckle, even if Dean can’t enjoy Mike’s confused face. “No, he isn’t mad. But he needs to know the date so he can put in for time off. The sooner the better,” he says to Mike.</p>
<p>Mike holds out his hand, walking towards Nick. “Let me talk to him.”</p>
<p>Nick hands over the phone, grabs his beer and retreats into the living room to see which video Gabe’s watching, giving Mike some privacy.</p>
<p>A few minutes later Mike returns with a beaming smile and hands the phone back. “Thanks,” he says. “He wasn’t mad at all. He thought it was funny, and his boss granted him time off to go with me to the party.”</p>
<p>Nick winks knowingly. “Don’t mention it. Have you watched the cute-video yet?” he asks, excited to witness yet another big-brother meltdown over Dean.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam thinks a lot about his therapy sessions. 45 minutes is way too short and still exhausting. Yesterday’s session he’d asked what she was allowed to reveal if he told her he’d done something illegal and she’d said the same thing as Uriel. He’d asked her what bodily autonomy really meant and asked her to explain it to him as if he was a little kid. ‘Surely, there must be situations and individuals who have the right to override it?’ he’d asked. ‘No. But there are people that will disrespect other people’s autonomy,’ she said and they’d discussed boundaries until his time was up. He hadn’t actually said anything about himself, but Mrs.‘<em>Feel free to call me Layla if that makes you comfortable</em>’ Rourke had seemed troubled by the end. He doesn’t get it because all he’d done was ask her questions. She’d given him her cell phone number. ‘<em>If there’s anything you find overwhelming, and you need help to work through it, you can text me.</em>’</p>
<p>The information he’d gotten about how the therapy would work hadn’t included anything about texting. He thought the offer was really nice but he didn’t want to intrude on her free time. He doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone. Ever. That’s something that’s been creeping up on him. Before he hadn’t had a strong drive to interact with people, but he hadn’t had any qualms about doing it either. Now he’s stuck overthinking everything, including if he’s a burden and a bother to his friends. He gets it now, what Mike’s struggling with. At least his friends are very clear about being happy to see him.</p>
<p>Today, he’s got a bigger problem. He’d bumped into Kelvin in a corridor. He’d been lost in thought, looking at his feet, turned a corner, and walked right into Kelvin’s chest. Flustered, he’d apologized, and then Kelvin had walked with him partway to his next lesson. Nothing had happened. Kelvin had smiled, asked how he was doing, told him his latest essay was back to his usual standard, and given his upper arm a friendly squeeze before parting ways.</p>
<p>That little squeeze set off an uncomfortable feeling in Sam and it’s been growing all day. It’s that horrible please-don’t-touch-me feeling that makes his skin crawl and he fucking hates it. He’d nearly shied away from Lisa and Brady when they hugged him when they came to pick him up to go to Nick’s place. Steve’s hooked arm around his neck was more bearable. But that’s it. <em>Bearable</em>.</p>
<p>Usually when he’s here he ends up tucked under Nick’s arm plastered to Nick’s side, and now he can’t even stand that. But he <em>wants to</em>. He wants to be close to Nick. So why does he feel like he does?</p>
<p>Music is playing in the background and everyone’s talking louder the drunker they get. Steve and Annie are dancing so lewdly you could never have guessed Steve’s gay. Annie caught her boyfriend Andrew cheating and broke up with him today, and Steve’s been with her all day, comforting, cuddling, talking. Sam thinks it’s a shame Steve’s gay because they’d be a great couple. He’d voiced that thought to Gabe who countered that great friends are more important than great girl- or boyfriends. Maybe he’s got a point.</p>
<p>Sam’s excused himself to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t need to pee, he just needs to get away from it all. He’s never realized how physical his friends are because he’s never minded before. He slinks outside with his heart beating rapidly and a lump in his throat. He wants to go home, but he has nowhere that feels like home. He wants to curl into Dean’s embrace and cry like he used to as a kid, but Dean’s working, and he’s scared to find out whether this awful feeling extends to Dean’s touch too.</p>
<p>He rounds the house and paces the lawn back and forth. The moonlight paints the short grass silver, but it’s dry and more like walking on needles with his sock-clad feet. He goes to sit down on the porch.The crickets chirp loudly, their choir blending with the muted revelry from within. He can feel the bass pumping even from here.</p>
<p>Last weekend Nick and he had taken a walk behind the house, weaving through the trees, and Nick had said, ‘this bullshit is mine, and this bullshit is mine, and this…’ pointing at trees and rocks that lay on his land. The land that came with the house is vaster than Sam previously understood, but it’s the reason why the neighbors’ houses are so spaced out. Sam enjoys walking in the woods but now it’s too dark. The porch is lit by one wall lamp and the light escaping from the windows.</p>
<p>He’s sitting on the same spot where he and Nick once drank tequila together yet the view couldn’t be more different. The grass is short, there are folding chairs on the porch, and Dean and Steve’s brick barbecue looks massive in the darkness, casting a long shadow. There’s a slight breeze that makes his skin prickle. It smells like it’s going to rain, but there isn’t a single cloud disturbing the view of the moon.</p>
<p>Sam tries to take deep, calming breaths. He tries to will himself to go back in. ‘Play through the pain’ as Dean would say. Maybe if he just ignores the crawling feeling it’ll go away? But anytime he tries to get up he gets nauseous thinking about putting himself through the unwanted touch. He rocks himself, trying not to cry.</p>
<p>He takes his phone from his pocket. Maybe Mrs. Rourke gave him her work number? Maybe it’s on silent? If it is, then he wouldn’t be disturbing her, would he? Is this a situation that merits a text? Maybe he can just write a text without hitting send and ask her next week instead? Maybe it’ll help getting his thoughts in order to write them down?</p>
<p>
  <tt>Hi, this is Sam Winchester. I don’t mean to disturb you. I hope you’ve got your phone on silent. I’m having a problem. Sometimes I get this awful feeling when people touch me. It’s like a crawling under my skin and sometimes I go numb and nauseous. When that happens my heart beats really fast and sometimes I get cold and clammy. And sometimes I get flashes of memories. I’m not sure they’re memories because I’ve got so many gaps in my memory from my childhood, but I think those flashes are sudden flashes of those gaps.</tt>
</p>
<p>The grammatical part of his brain cringes at the repeated words. The message is getting so long it’s converted to a MMS and he hasn’t even started to explain his problem, just told her what she needs to know to understand (he hopes) the problem. He wonders if her phone can receive MMS? He debates with himself if he’s going to take the chance on her phone being on silent and send the message so he can keep writing. His finger hovers over the send button.</p>
<p>With a grimace, he hits send, then starts writing again.</p>
<p>
  <tt>Usually this feeling comes during or after sex. When I’ve slept with someone I don’t want to sleep with. But lately, it’s been coming at random moments and lingered longer and longer. Today I got it from an ex-lover squeezing my arm and it’s been getting worse all day. And now it’s causing a problem.</tt>
</p>
<p>He sends the text and keeps writing.</p>
<p>
  <tt>I’m at a party at a friends house. It’s outside the city. My friends keep touching me. Just friendly stuff. Like hugs or an arm around my shoulder. Nothing like *that* if you know what I mean? But the feeling’s getting worse and it’s like the walls are closing in on me.</tt>
</p>
<p>He hits send again and pauses for a beat, wondering if she’ll understand what ‘like *that* means. He’s already second-guessing if he should’ve told her that he has sex. He makes a sound of frustration and keeps writing.</p>
<p>
  <tt>But the worst part is: I’m in love with this guy. He’s here, and usually we cuddle and talk. That’s all we do. But tonight even his touch makes me feel that way. I WANT him to touch me but I couldn’t stand it. I went outside. I can’t make myself go back in. I can’t go home because I don’t have a car and I don’t feel comfortable with my roommate around. I don't know what to do. I’m on the verge of tears.</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam sends that off too and tries to define what he wants to ask. He starts writing something out but deletes it, thinks a bit more, then starts writing again.</p>
<p>
  <tt>I’m thinking about what you said about boundaries. I want to tell my friends not to touch me but I’m afraid they’ll take it the wrong way. What if they feel hurt or offended? And what if my crush loses interest in me? What if they think I’m being over-dramatic and mean? I LIKE these people and they’re not “bad touching” me or anything. And usually it’s comforting and I like it. I don’t want them to stop permanently. I feel so useless. Why can’t I be normal?</tt>
</p>
<p>He puts his phone down beside him. His fingers are getting cold and stiff. It’s not cold as he’s experienced cold living in other states, but the chilly breeze is getting to him. He wishes he’d at least thought of putting on a long-sleeved shirt before he went out. He fists his hands and crosses his arms to warm his hands in his armpits. He rocks himself. He can’t go back in. He just <em>can’t</em>.</p>
<p>When his phone vibrates he startles with an undignified yelp. He picks his phone up. It’s a message from Mrs. Rourke. He opens it with a guilty twist in his chest. It’s 10:30 a Friday night. He shouldn’t have bothered her.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> Hi Sam. What you're experiencing is normal. You are normal. Our mental state often translates into physical expression. I want to help you work through it. Do you prefer if I call you or text?</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam feels like a complete shithead ruining his therapist’s night. He quickly taps out: <tt>Oh god, I'm sorry. I thought this was a work phone. I don't want to be a bother.</tt></p>
<p>The answer comes almost right away.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> It's alright, Sam. You're not bothering me. You’re currently outside, you can’t go home, and going back to your friends feels overwhelming. Did I understand you correctly?</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam answers: <tt>Yes.</tt></p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> Are any of the friends you’ve told me about at the party?</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam lets out a little whine. Tears are once again pushing at his eyelids. All the people inside that he likes or even loves and he <em>still</em> can’t make himself go inside. He’d told Mrs.Rourke about his friends in the first session. He writes: <tt>Yeah, they’re all here. But it’s still overwhelming and makes me feel freaked out. That’s what’s so fucked up. I don’t know what to do.</tt></p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> Is there anyone of those friends in particular that you would be comfortable telling how you feel right now?</tt>
</p>
<p>Mike is the first name that comes to mind. Then Steve. Come to think of it, he’s already talked to Steve about this before that night when they sat on the bench on campus and talked. The difference is that the problem has grown, but Steve would understand. He would. He would wear that serious, worried frown and tap his chest over his heart with his fist. But he’s comforting Annie and Annie’s really torn up about walking in on her boyfriend cheating so Sam doesn’t want to impose. So he could go get Mike.</p>
<p>But the thought of going inside to get Mike nearly sends him into panic. He quickly taps out: <tt>Yes, but I’d still have to go inside to get them and I can’t make myself. I’m trying! But it’s like my body refuses to obey and instead I break out in cold sweat and feel like throwing up.</tt></p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> Do any of them have a phone? Maybe you can text them and ask them to come out to you?</tt>
</p>
<p>Sam cringes. He hadn’t even considered it. But because everyone is in the house, using phones to communicate with them seemed silly. He’s dumb, to not even thinking of trying to get a friend to come out to help him. Not that he wants any of them to see him like this. He writes: <tt>Now I feel stupid. I didn’t even think of that. I’m completely useless.</tt></p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> When we’re stressed and caught up in a downward spiral of negative thoughts we may be too preoccupied by that and need someone to break us out of it or give us direction. It doesn’t make you useless. You reached out for help by texting me. That’s a good thing, Sam. Thank you for trusting me to help you.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> When you feel comfortable doing so, text your friend to ask them to come to you. You don’t need to tell them everything you feel, but ask them to help you get to a safe space. Maybe an empty room in the house? And for them to stay with you.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> You can also ask them to get you something sweet to eat or drink. When we’re in a high-stress situation and the body prepares for flight we burn more carbohydrates which can worsen symptoms like nausea and clamminess. Fruit, sweets, and full-sugar soft drinks for instance.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Mrs.Layla Rourke:</b> Text me back to tell me if you got help. Otherwise we’ll figure out another solution.</tt>
</p>
<p>
  <tt>Thank you. I will.</tt>
</p>
<p>He feels slightly calmer now that he's been given a course of action. Anxiety still crawls all over and his breathing is short and shallow, but he's been given a mission that isn't overwhelming. He holds his phone, trying to decide what to write. Should he explain already in the text or just write for Mike to please come out?</p>
<p>The choice is taken away from him when the porch door opens behind him. “<em>Found him!</em>” Nick yells, then he comes out the door, face going soft, cooing, “There you are. We’ve been looking all over for you.” He closes the door behind him and comes to sit down beside Sam on the porch. Sliding close and putting his arm around Sam.</p>
<p>Sam can’t deal with that. Not now. He just <em>can’t</em>.</p>
<p>“Don’t touch me!” Sam snipes in panic and curls in on himself even more in a way that has nothing to do with being cold, and leans away from Nick.</p>
<p>Nick pulls his hand away as if burned and scoots away, eyes wide and horrified. <em>Hurt</em>.</p>
<p>Sam struggles not to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over, squeezing his eyes shut, rocking himself back and forth. He didn’t want to hurt his friends and now he has. He’s useless.</p>
<p>Behind them the door opens again. “Heyooo. Out here having a private part―” Gabe hollers but cuts himself off to accusingly say, “What did you do, Nicky?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I must have said something offensive that hurt him,” Nick answers with clear distress in his voice.</p>
<p>“Well, that’s obvious, if you’re talking, you’re saying something offensive,” Gabe agrees.</p>
<p>“<em>Nooo,</em>” Sam whines without opening his eyes, feeling tears burning on the inside of his lids. “It’s me. I’m broken. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I don’t know why, but I can’t take it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The first sob tears free so he bends his neck to hide his face behind his knees.</p>
<p>“So it’s not something I did?” Nick asks softly.</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head without looking up.</p>
<p>“That’s a new one,” Gabe jokes and moves somewhere around Nick. The next second the grass in front of Sam rustles and something scrapes on the wooden stair between Sam’s feet.</p>
<p>“Damn it, Gabe, not everything can be solved with candy,” Nick scolds.</p>
<p>“No? In that case, I know what will,” Gabe chirps.</p>
<p>Nick mutters, “Oh for fuck sake,” under his breath and then something else scrapes in between Sam’s feet.</p>
<p>Sam opens his eyes to see a bar of Snickers, and a roll of duct tape carefully being pushed in between his feet by Gabe’s fingers. Sam can’t help the sound between a laugh and sob that escapes him. Gabe’s proudly declared that everything can be fixed with duct tape and totes that roll around because of his crap car Dean’s slowly fixing up. Sam appreciates the joke despite the tears. He looks up and covers his mouth with a hand to stop further sobs, meeting Gabe’s gaze. Gabe’s smiling at him but his eyes are sad and worried, sitting cross-legged on the grass.</p>
<p>Beside Sam Nick pulls his hoodie off and holds it out to him. “You’re very cold. Put this on? Or, if you can’t stand my scent, I can get a clean one?” he says quietly.</p>
<p>Stupid tears roll down Sam’s cheeks. He hates that he’s crying. He takes the shirt and quickly pulls it on, mumbling thanks. The hoodie is bordering on too large. He pulls the hood up, and the sleeves down to cover his fingers, then curls into a ball again, trying not to sob. But the tears just keep coming.</p>
<p>“I’ll go fetch tissues,” Gabe declares and scuttles up and away inside.</p>
<p>Sam’s left with the sound of his quiet sobs, the loud chirps of the crickets, and the steady sense of Nick’s presence by his side.</p>
<p>“Am I sitting too close?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head without looking up, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to be. It’s not your fault.”</p>
<p>The door opens behind them again. “Hey,” Mike’s voice is gentle. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“Sam’s not feeling great. He says it isn’t my fault,” Nick answers a tad bit defensively. The wooden boards creak behind Sam and Nick hastily adds, “He doesn’t want anyone to touch him.”</p>
<p>The creaking wood changes direction then Sam can see from under the side of the hood how Mike sinks down to sit with his back leaned against the porch railing, looking at Sam with concerned eyes. “Hey… What happened?”</p>
<p>“Nothing. I’m just broken,” Sam sniffles.</p>
<p>“We’re all broken, Sam. At some point in our lives, metaphorically speaking, someone dropped us from the highest point of a tree and we hit every branch on the way down,” Mike says. “In the case of the prickly bastard on your other side, it was probably a fir,” he adds with a hint of a smile and gestures at Nick. Sam hiccups a half-giggle and Nick huffs in amusement. In his head, Sam sees Little Bird tumble helplessly in the scene he wrote after the Raven had taken him to her nest. “But broken or not, we’re still good people. So are you. And when we’re too broken to function, we help each other out. Will you tell us what’s wrong and see if there’s anything we can do to make you feel better?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to ruin your evening. I’m making you sad.”</p>
<p>“We’re sad because you’re sad. We love you, Sam. You’re not ruining our evening by talking to us and helping us understand what’s wrong,” Mike coaxes.</p>
<p>“It’s just that…” Sam searches for words, “Lately…” and then it starts pouring out of him. Gabe comes back with tissues that he hands to Sam and then sits down cross-legged on the grass in front of Sam to listen. Sam blows his nose and goes on. He tells them about the sensation he’d started getting after or during sex, and how it had started coming outside of sex, and then how he’d felt during the day and then tonight. He tells them about texting his therapist and what she’d said.</p>
<p>Right about then the door opens and Steve pokes his head out. He spots Sam and the half-circle of brothers around him and frowns. “Bro, you alright?”</p>
<p>“Not really, no,” Sam says. “Remember when I told you that I’d get the crawlies after sex?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been having it all day for no reason. Even when you guys touch me.”</p>
<p>“That sucks, man.” Steve snaps his fingers. “Oh, I know! We should come up with a greeting so you can show us straight away it’s an all-hands-off kinda day.” He bends his head and taps his temple with a thinking expression, then snaps his fingers again, looking up as if a light went off in his head. “I know. You can do a two-finger salute like this,” he demonstrates, “and then we’ll know not to touch you or get our fingers broken.”</p>
<p>“I won’t break any fingers,” Sam answers with a confused frown.</p>
<p>“Nah, you’ll just obliterate our souls with that puppy-eyed look of yours. <em>I’ll</em> take care of the finger-breaking,” Steve says with a smirk, making Nick snigger. “You need to sleep alone tonight? You can take my room. I’ll crash in the guestroom with Annie.”</p>
<p>“Or we can go back to my place,” Mike suggests. “I can sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed.”</p>
<p>“But you and Dean had agreed that you’d sleep in his bed so you two could sleep together when he gets home. I don’t want to ruin everything for everyone,” Sam protests.</p>
<p>“You can sleep with me,” Nick says. “I’ve got the biggest bed in the house. Ella always sleeps with me and you know she’s touch-averse. I can’t guarantee that I’ll wake up and move away if you snuggle in your sleep, but I know how to keep on my own side.”</p>
<p>Sam looks at Nick’s earnest, beautiful face. “Wo-would that be okay? I don’t want to ruin the night for everyone else.”</p>
<p>“Of course it is, Sam. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”</p>
<p>Steve sniggers. “A’ight. I’ll go tell the others about the greeting. Yell if you need me,” he says, fists his heart, and goes back inside.</p>
<p>“I feel so mean,” Sam tells the brothers. “I know people here only touch me because they like me and then it’s like I’m insulting everyone by feeling this way. Usually I like it. I figured I could just ‘play through the pain’, as Dean always says, but I couldn’t.”</p>
<p>“Nonono no. You shouldn’t do that,” Nick says. “You’ve heard of Pavlov’s dogs, right? A bell rang every time they got fed so after a while they started salivating just by hearing the bell. That works the other way around too. If you play through the pain with us and soon enough you’re gonna start seeing us as the bad thing.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and we’d be shitheads if we get offended by it. Then we wouldn’t be touching you because we cared about you in the first place, but because we were selfish and entitled,” Gabe says.</p>
<p>“Remember when we walked along the docks?” Mike says. “I told you that love is respect, and unwavering faith and support? This is part of that. We respect you. The only time I’d override your no-touching rule is if you were in physical danger and I had to touch you to save you.”</p>
<p>“That’s also a reason I would play through the pain,” Gabe says. “If someone is in danger or has a crisis of some sort that’s worse than how I’m feeling, that’s a good enough reason to postpone my own breakdown. Being polite sure as hell isn’t.”</p>
<p>Both Mike and Nick nod their agreement.</p>
<p>Gabe nudges the growing pile of candy between Sam’s feet. “Here. Have some. You’ll feel better.”</p>
<p>But Sam realizes he already does. He’s mostly ashamed, and feels ridiculous for making a scene. But the crawling anxiety is gone. He feels a bit like crying again but now more out of gratitude and affection for his friends’ care. He’s at least ten tons lighter and the thought of going inside isn’t petrifying anymore. “Yeah, alright. Thanks. For everything,” he says with a small smile and picks up the Snickers out of the pile of lollipops, Werthers, slightly mangled Hershey kisses, and who knows what else. Then he texts his therapist to tell her the crisis is averted.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I've had a few comments along the story of people wondering when we'd get to the Sam getting better part. I didn't want to rush it due to the risk of mental backlash in Sam. Instead, I've given him time to bit by bit build his support system, bond tightly to them, and hear and experience the right things that could tumble around in his head while he slowly realizes the egregious acts that have been done to him and what it means to who he is and how he sees life. He's entering a very tumultuous time inwardly, even though there are less distressing elements in his environment. He's lucky insofar that when he chooses to open up and talk, he's met with understanding and acceptance. The one person in his surrounding right now that wouldn't be so accepting if he spoke the whole truth, is too distressed by the thought to approach the subject, and that is, of course, Dean. So, yes, that will be an issue further along.</p>
<p>Mental health problems can manifest physically in a number of ways, especially if you're in denial of your actual problems. It can be anything from unexplainable headaches, back pain, high blood pressure, nausea, vision distortion, numbness of limbs, and a whole range of symptoms. Sometimes they come tied to triggers or situations like Sam reacting to touch, sometimes it isn't that clear what's causing it. The back pain and headache might be from subconsciously tensing up muscles due to stress/constant distress. If you live with constant stress/high anxiety like Mike and Dean, your sympathetic nervous system responsible for our fight or flight reaction is activated, releasing hormones like adrenalin, noradrenalin, and cortisol. Those are all good when they activate because we see a car coming straight at us. They elevate blood pressure, quickens the heartbeat, make blood coagulate faster, constrict blood vessels, slow down our large intestines, and make us burn carbohydrates faster, basically helps us get out of dangerous situations. But when this system is overactivated like it is when we're stressed/anxious 24/7, it causes a lot of damage, and we run a higher risk of heart disease, blood clots, obesity, and a whole range of other diseases. So when people say, "It's all in your head," they're absolutely right. So is bowel movement, digesting our food, our heartbeat, and the ability to process the image on our retinas. We can't control any of that.<br/>However, we can solve the underlying problems. Leave an abusive relationship, quit a job, stop abusing substances, cut toxic people out of our lives, and break deeply ingrained habits and thought-patterns. It doesn't happen overnight. Even if you left a bad relationship today your depression and fear might last months because of how chemicals in our brains are or aren't produced. It is very hard to do it all alone, but one trusted, supporting person in our lives can be enough to give us the boost we need. </p>
<p>Sam reached out for help. It's not strange whatsoever that he couldn't think of texting Mike on his own. When we're in the middle of a panic attack, rationality and logic aren't the ruling parts of us, especially not since the "attack" comes from within ourselves.</p>
<p>A note about bodily autonomy. Of course there are times when it might get overruled, like when we get arrested for a crime. But Layla opted not to dive into that when she's talking to a person she thinks might be a victim of physical and more likely sexual abuse/molestation. I didn't write the therapy session but you can be sure that Sam's probing questions weren't nearly as discreet as he thinks they are. Just like in his texts he says "Usually it only happens when I'm having sex with someone I don't want to have sex with". That's not something that's supposed to happen to people yet he's approaching it with an attitude as if it's something people do on the regular. Layla's first priority was to get him to understand that he has the right to decide what happens to his body. Launching into a deep-dive about when and who may infringe on that right might instead reinforce his belief that he can't, and that he's to blame for not liking it when people do.</p>
<p>And for those of you who don't remember Layla Rourke, one of the prettiest women on SPN (who're you calling biased???), here she is:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For the first time ever, Sam gets to share a bed with his crush.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings that I can think of. More of a lighthearted chapter amidst all the heavy nonsense we're dealing with. ;)</p>
<p>I also needed to distract myself from nerves since my stepdad is currently having surgery that hopefully will be the last bit of cancer treatment he'll need.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sam lies with the blanket pulled up to his chest, wearing a clean tee and sweatpants, watching Nick change clothes. His heart flutters nervously. Nick’s got his back turned and is currently just in his boxer briefs as he rummages in his closet for a second pair of sweatpants for himself. He’s got that dip in the spine Sam’s come to love, but unlike Mike, Nick’s got comfort weight enough to give him a bit of a belly. You can see the hint of muscular toning on his arms and he’s legit the sexiest man on the planet. Yes, Sam’s biased, but still.</p>
<p>Nick mutters a curse under his breath, crouches down to look at a lower shelf, then hums in satisfaction and pulls the sweatpants he’d been looking for out. “I made a grave mistake,” he says and pulls them on. “Dean asked if I wanted him to put away my clean clothes when he brought them up. I said, ‘No. I’m a grown-ass man, I can do it myself.’” He turns around and holds up a finger pointedly. “Now, Steve, he wasn’t that dumb. He said, ‘Please do. Thank you.’ You know what happens when one lets your brother put away the clothes?”</p>
<p>Sam’s lips twitch in amusement. “They get sorted according to type and color and neatly folded,” he answers.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Nick agrees. “Opening either of their wardrobes is like looking at porn. But my closet...” he turns around to grimace and make a disgusted noise at the chaos on the shelves, then snatches a T-shirt at random.</p>
<p>“Just tell him you’ve changed your mind. He probably gets stressed every time he comes in here simply by seeing it. He spent, like, 15 minutes sorting out my closet back in my dorm. He was whistling one of his happy tunes while doing it. He always liked folding laundry.”</p>
<p>Nick huffs. “I can’t just change my mind, Sammy,” he says and pulls the tee over his head. “A man has his pride.”</p>
<p>Sam averts his gaze. “Yeah, like I lost mine tonight,” he mumbles.</p>
<p>“Pfft. No. That was your dignity,” Nick jokes and comes to bed. “Pride, you see, is a foolish endeavor. It’s something we hold on to because we’re idiots. Like when you’re wrong about something, and you stubbornly hold on to your statement even after you’ve been proven wrong,” he says as he climbs into bed on his side.</p>
<p>His side.</p>
<p>Sam imagines what it would be like sleeping like this every night. To get to call one side of this bed ‘my side’. “But then you’d have lost your pride anyway because everyone would know you’re wrong,” he says as he tips over onto his side supporting his head with a hand so he can look at Nick.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Nick smirks. “I’m a master at that. An imbecile extraordinaire.” He lies on his side too, smiling at Sam with hooded eyelids.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“You didn’t lose your pride today, Sam. Nobody here thinks any less of you. We’ve all been there,” Nick says with a mild voice. “Perhaps not for the same reasons, aside from Ella, but we’ve been there. Crying in cold sweats because our emotions got too hard to bear. And this is what we do for each other. Talk it through, see if we can find solutions, or just be there as a comfort.”</p>
<p>“But… um. Ella said this could be cured, right?” Sam asks, waiting until Nick nods before he goes on. “But, if it can, why isn’t she cured?”</p>
<p>“She doesn’t want to be,” Nick answers easily. “For her, the problem isn’t how she feels when someone touches her, but that people touch her. You understand the difference?”</p>
<p>Sam frowns. “I’m not sure…”</p>
<p>“You say that normally you like to be touched, that’s why this distressed you so much?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Well, she doesn’t. Her hug-o-meter fills up in one hug and she’s happy with that. While for me one hug is a drop in the ocean. So for her, it’s like, why train for a marathon when all you want to do is lift weights?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, I get it now. She <em>did</em> say I can be cured if I wanted to.” Sam thinks about it for a moment while Nick keeps quiet and watches him with the softest smile. “I thought… I thought therapy would make me feel better. And in a way, it has, a bit, I think. But it’s also made things a lot worse somehow?”</p>
<p>“Of course it has. Therapy is the mental equivalent of cutting open an infected abscess to let all the pus out. It’s about learning to trust yourself, building mental muscles you never had, and unlearning bad habits. It hurts. It’s hard work. It’s exhausting.”</p>
<p>“You’ve never been to therapy,” Sam says with a bemused lopsided smile.</p>
<p>“I’ve been to all kinds of therapy, I’ve just done my best to make the therapists quit their job,” Nick says. “I’ve never managed to trust them and only wondered how they were trying to get at me. That paranoia is reason in itself to go to therapy,” he adds jokingly.</p>
<p>Sam smiles. “I like my therapist. She’s so calm, and nice, and, I dunno, mild?”</p>
<p>“And that does it for you?”</p>
<p>“I guess?”</p>
<p>Silence lingers after that. Sam gets carried away staring at Nick and Nick’s gaze trails over Sam’s face as if he’s committing it to memory. “Sam…” Nick says at last. “Do you remember that night that never happened?”</p>
<p>“Yeah…”</p>
<p>“This was what I was talking about. We both have things we need to work through if we’d have a chance to last. I’m working on my stuff too.”</p>
<p>“What stuff is that?”</p>
<p>Nick rolls onto his back and holds up his hand, then starts ticking off on his fingers, “Paranoia, jealousy, violent rage fits, no impulse control, emotionally abusive tendencies―” He looks like he could tick off a lot more but he stops when Sam laughs and grins at Sam.</p>
<p>“You can’t be that bad,” Sam chuckles.</p>
<p>“My brothers say no, but I can. I’m getting better. I can’t tell you how effective you and Steve boning is of an exercise in control,” he sniggers.</p>
<p>"Tell me about it," Sam agrees. He hates when he sees Nick flirt with others and doesn’t like to think about him with others. But he kinda gets it now, why Nick wants to wait. But… "What if I'm never cured?"</p>
<p>Nick rolls back onto his side and supports his head in his hand, mirroring Sam. "Don't think of it as being cured. Think of it as learning to deal with your limitations and becoming more self-aware of what those limitations are."</p>
<p>That's a good way to think of it. Steve hadn't batted an eyelash before coming up with practical solutions. None of his friends had seemed offended by not getting to touch him. His worry about their reactions had been much worse than their actual reactions. And Zachariah might end up in jail because Sam told Uriel that Zachariah ignored his 'no'. That's huge. Uriel found that a greater offense than selling sex. And best of all; telling his friends how he felt and what he wanted had, for the first time, landed him here, in Nick’s bed, <em>with</em> Nick. His belly flutters excitedly.</p>
<p>Nick narrows his eyes suspicioiusly, lips twitching in in a smile. “What does that smile mean?”</p>
<p>“Nothing. So we should get on with the getting to know each other part,” Sam answers with a playful smile.</p>
<p>“Why, Sammy, one might think you’re thirsty for me,” Nick purrs teasingly.</p>
<p>“Am not. Shut up. What’s your favorite color?”</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. “Green. Muted moss green, and earthy colors.”</p>
<p>“Like Dean’s eyes,” Sam states. His brother has the most gorgeous moss green eyes.</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face. “No, dummy, like <em>your</em> eyes.”</p>
<p>“My eyes aren’t green.”</p>
<p>“They are now. They shift color. Sometimes they nearly look blue. Mostly they’re different shades of hazel and green. Which so happens to be my favorite colors, regardless of your eyes. How about you? What’s your favorite color?”</p>
<p>“Um…” Sam has to think. “It would’ve be easier to say what colors I don’t like.”</p>
<p>“So tell me?”</p>
<p>“Bright primary colors. Red, blue, yellow. And bright green, even if that’s a secondary color. You know, colors a clown might wear?”</p>
<p>“You must really hate your brother’s room then,” Nick sniggers.</p>
<p>“No. I mean, it’s a bit too colorful, sure, but his room is more like sci-fi, or a cartoon for girls, or, I dunno. But clowns don’t usually wear neon pink or blue, or, you know?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. So you don’t like clowns?”</p>
<p>“No. When I was little we rented a house where there was a clown painting in dad’s bedroom, and… um…” Sam trails off and looks away.</p>
<p>Nick hums. “You know, asking about favorite colors won’t exactly make us know each other better,” he states.</p>
<p>Sam looks back at him. “I disagree. I already know what your uncle did to you, that you’re a foster kid, and about your drug addiction and losing the love of your life. And you know I’m a prostitute, and that… um. You, you <em>know</em> right? You sang that song looking at me. You <em>know</em>.”</p>
<p>Nick purses his lips and nods slowly with eyelids hanging low.</p>
<p>This is the closest Sam’s been to ever verbalize the secret he has. He can’t say it out loud yet, but it still feels like hollering through a microphone. He hurriedly pushes pash the subject. “But I don’t know what your favorite color or book is. I mean, I know your favorite color <em>now</em>, but you know what I mean.”</p>
<p>“Fair point. My favorite book is ‘First Blood’ by David Morrell, tightly followed by ‘Watership Down’ by Richard Adams.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never heard of ‘First Blood’ but Dean used to read Watership Down to me. I think he read it to me, like, four times. I love it.”</p>
<p>Nick sputters mock-indignantly. “<em>never heard of―!</em> You heathen!” He grins to show he’s joking. “Have you heard of the Rambo movies?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“They’re based on that book, which is why I literally can’t watch those movies without getting enraged enough to destroy furniture.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Sam chuckles.</p>
<p>“You see, in the book, Rambo and the guy hunting him both die. It’s a very emotional scene and brings the story to a satisfying conclusion since there’s no way to justify either of their survival. It’s a brilliant look at what happens when we don’t take care of people with mental health problems in our society. <em>Bu-ut</em>, in the movies he survives, which renders him nothing but a mentally ill murderer that we’re supposed to root for because he’s down on his luck, and,” Nick makes his voice whiny, grimacing as he says mockingly, “‘<em>the other guy started it.</em>’ And by making him more sympathetic and moral, the story loses all its introspective value. Because when you drop the flawed versus flawed character arc and replace it with good versus evi― <em>Will you stop giggling?</em>”</p>
<p>Sam laughs out loud. “I’m sorry. You’re really passionate about this,” he says. Nick answers with a put-upon grunt and amused, twinkling eyes. “Do you like to read?”</p>
<p>“I do. I prefer to read before going to sleep, like a palate cleanser, sort of. I read a chapter or two every day.”</p>
<p>“<em>A chapter?</em> Wow. I could never read just a chapter," Sam says.</p>
<p>"So I've noticed," Nick smirks. "How about you? Your favorite book?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. It's hard to pick just one. And I guess I can’t pick anything I wrote myself?”</p>
<p>“You can absolutely pick something you wrote yourself,” Nick answers delightedly. “Please, tell me about it.”</p>
<p>Sam bites his lip and looks at the mattress between them. He reaches out and hesitantly hooks his fingers around Nick’s hand―the one Nick isn’t supporting his head with―and looks up at him with raised eyebrows. Nick grins brightly, flexes his fingers, and moves his hand closer to Sam. Sam’s belly flutters. It feels like drinking joy straight from the bottle. It’s thrilling, really, that something as simple as holding hands can feel so overwhelming and profound. Right now there’s nothing left of the horrible numb, skin-crawling feeling but Sam doesn’t dare test the limits in case it comes back. Instead, he settles for lacing their fingers together loosely. “Um… Okay, I guess. I, I’ve always loved stories, right? And as a kid, if I wasn’t reading, I was making up stories in my head. I didn’t use to write them down. But I wanted to. So when I started college I started writing.”</p>
<p>“Mhm?” Nick encourages.</p>
<p>“And, like, um, just like when I read, the emotions of the characters feel more real to me than my own. There’s one of my stories in particular, that I love. It’s not even done yet and it’s supposed to be a story for kids. I’m so frustrated right now because I’m in a writer’s block and anytime I sit down to continue writing it, I get the worst case of anxiety.”</p>
<p>“What’s it about?” Nick probes.</p>
<p>“It’s, uh,” Sam averts his gaze to look at the mattress, “it’s about a little bird.” His gaze flicks up to Nick’s but he can’t look at him so he averts his face. “The story starts off when he’s no longer in his nest. I don’t know how he ended up on the ground, but he’s all downy and soft. Then he meets all these animals and one after another they steal, trick, or rob him out of his soft, downy feathers until he barely has any left. He’s in so much pain and so afraid, and sometimes it takes me many days to recuperate after I’ve written about him.”</p>
<p>“Is that why you don’t like it when I call you baby bird? Because you’ve put your emotions so deeply into the story you’re writing and when I call you my little bird, you have to reattach yourself to them?” Nick asks gently.</p>
<p>Sam jerks one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe? I guess…”</p>
<p>“Can I read it?”</p>
<p>Sam’s eyes widen in horror and his eyes snap up to look at Nick. “<em>No.</em> I mean, when I’m done, like, yeah, sure, but. Um.”</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. “Then how about showing it to my dad?”</p>
<p>Sam smiles bemusedly, frowning. “Why would I let your dad, specifically, read it before it’s done?”</p>
<p>“Because he’s a published author, of course. Mike didn’t tell you?”</p>
<p>Sam sits up excitedly, squeezing Nick’s hand. “No, he didn’t tell me! What kind of books does he write? Anything I might’ve read?”</p>
<p>Amusement dances in Nick’s eyes. “Yes. His pen name is Carver Edlund.”</p>
<p>Sam makes an embarrassing noise of elation. He’s not sure what expression he’s wearing but it makes Nick laugh, carefree and beautiful.</p>
<p>“If I take you to see him, will you bring your story for him to take a look at?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>“Sure. I can do that,” Sam agrees thoughtlessly and flops down on the mattress again. “Is he…” he starts barraging Nick with questions about Chuck, most of which he can’t answer. They talk about other things too. ‘Would you rather go skiing or go to the beach?’, ‘What’s your favorite food?’, ‘What’s your biggest fear?’ Stuff like that. And Nick’s definitely wrong. You <em>can</em> get to know someone through questions like that. Innocuous questions with equally innocuous answers get turned on their heads when you follow it up with a ‘Why?’</p>
<p>Like when Sam finally decides on his favorite colors as plum and lavender. Nick asks why and Sam answers, “When I hitchhiked to California, most people that offered me a ride wanted something in return, right? But there was this trucker… I thought he was like the others because he wouldn’t stop watching me at the gas station. I did what I always did and went up to him and said, ‘You wanted me, Sir?’”</p>
<p>Nick cringes when he says that.</p>
<p>“Hey, it works. Don’t judge,” Sam chuckles. “Anyway, I was wrong. He asked me if I was hitchhiking and offered me a ride. But he didn’t want sex. He was worried about me. And before we parted, he gave me a T-shirt he’d bought for his son, but he figured I needed it more. It’s darkly plum-colored with a lavender greyhound on it. It’s too small now but I love it and wore it all the time the first year here. I dunno, but it kinda got to me that he prioritized me before his son.”</p>
<p>Nick’s worst fear is losing people that care about him. Sam thinks it’s funny. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?</p>
<p>“No. I care about a lot of people. But those that care about me are few and far between,” Nick says. “So every loss is devastating.”</p>
<p>Eventually they say goodnight and cut the light. Nick lies on his belly and Sam on his back, still holding hands. Sam closes his eyes and lets his breathing become calm and deep until he’s bordering on the dreaming wasteland of sleep, but his head is too busy going through everything that’s happened today, and too aware of Nick lying there in the darkness.</p>
<p>He lies quiet for maybe five, ten minutes―it’s hard to tell when you’re lost in thoughts―when Nick suddenly says, “I love you.”</p>
<p>“I love you too,” Sam deadpans drowsily, butterflies going mad inside of him.</p>
<p>“Fuck sake, jackass, you were supposed to be asleep!” Nick complains. “Fuck Mike and his stupid bravery.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs and turns his head to the dark outline that’s Nick. “First off, what’s the point of saying it if I wouldn’t hear it, and secondly, what’s Mike got to do with it?”</p>
<p>“Mike said it to Dean. I was inspired. Now, shush, and go, the fuck, to sleep,” Nick counters testily. But in the darkness Sam can see Nick’s mouth like a light, smile-shaped gash, showing he’s grinning.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sometimes life is fantastic. Like waking up with Sam lying on top of him like a damn heater. Nick might be boiling alive since Sam’s occupying his preferred position―which is on top of things―all while being 150℉ hot, but he’s <em>cuddling</em> which is the important part. He might also be drooling a little on Nick’s neck.</p>
<p>Nick wiggles a little, trying to jostle Sam off him. “Sam, sweetheart, my bladder is about to explode. So if you could just…”</p>
<p>“<em>Whmzt</em>? Oh. sorry.” Sam shuffles to the side with a sleepy, flustered smile and Nick’s heart grows ten sizes because the dimpled little shit is so damn beautiful.</p>
<p>“You feel better today? None of that skin-crawling?” Nick asks, sliding out of bed.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so? Why don’t you touch me and find out?” Sam purrs teasingly and stretches languidly like a cat.</p>
<p>Against his better judgement, Nick bends down and runs his fingers through Sam’s soft hair. “Uncomfortable?”</p>
<p>“No. How about trying with a kiss?” Sam says with a catty look and a lopsided smirk.</p>
<p>Nick stands up straight, removing his hand. He’d like nothing more than to lie down on top of Sam and do anything Sam asks for and a lot of things that he doesn’t ask for. “Not happening.”</p>
<p>“Why not? You love me and you want to. I won’t stop you.”</p>
<p>“Which is precisely why, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>Sam whines and rolls over to faceplant in Nick’s pillow, complaint muffled by the pillow. “<em>Life isn’t fair.</em>”</p>
<p>Nick chuckles, and (with great difficulty) heads for the door. “You got that right. Life isn’t fair,” he agrees and leaves the room. Downstairs he can hear laughter, chatter, and Dean whistling something upbeat while the scent of bacon whispers just as alluringly as Sam did. He goes to the bathroom and pulls on the handle. It’s locked. “You gonna be long? I need to pee!” he says, raising his voice.</p>
<p>“Go downstairs!” Mike yells back.</p>
<p>“Mike, if I’m forced to go downstairs, I swear I’m gonna pee in your car!”</p>
<p>Too late he remembers that the car is still back by Mike’s apartment and that he picked up Mike with the van yesterday, making it an empty threat. It doesn’t seem to matter as Mike unlocks and opens with a toothbrush stuck in his mouth and a towel wrapped around his waist, giving him a flat look. He goes back to the sink to continue brushing his teeth and Nick enters the foggy bathroom, locks the door and sits down on the toilet to pee.</p>
<p>Mike spits out foam and rinses his mouth. “Have you seen Dean’s body lately? His hours at the gym are paying off. He was hot before, but now? <em>Phew</em>,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“Please tell me you didn’t tell him that?” Nick groans.</p>
<p>“Why not?” Mike asks, turning around to face him, drying his mouth.</p>
<p>“Because he’s fucking obsessive. It’s fine when it’s about building a new shelf in the supply closet. That’s something with a definite solution, but if he starts obsessing over his body we’ll have a repeat of the you-problem we had in college.”</p>
<p>Mike raises his eyebrows. “You’re right. Thanks for catching that before I said anything. He’s already incredibly insecure about his looks.”</p>
<p>“He is?” It makes sense, but Nick hadn’t really noted any big signs of it because how comfortable Dean is with his hair looking however and dressing in any type of clothes.</p>
<p>“Yes. He thinks the bridge of his nose is too narrow, his eyes are spaced too tightly, he’s a bit cross-eyed―”</p>
<p>“Fuck yes. That’s so damned cute,” Nick remarks.</p>
<p>“Mhm. He hates his freckles, tenses up anytime I say anything about his lips, and he hates his bowlegs.”</p>
<p>“Those damn bowlegs. It’s like, ‘Fuuuh! Work it, baby!’ anytime he walks,” Nick says and makes a gesture as if he’s grabbing at hips in front of him with a leery expression.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. “Agreed. But also, keep your hands <em>off</em>,” he chuckles.</p>
<p>Nick smirks, a bit surprised at Mike’s lack of outrage about Nick perving on his not-quite-boyfriend. “You’re in a good mood today,” he states and pulls his shirt over his head, then kicks his pants off before standing up and flushing.</p>
<p>“Why shouldn’t I be?” Mike says while Nick steps into the shower and pulls the curtain. “I told Dean I loved him, he knows my colleagues think we’re boyfriends, and he still wanted to come home to find me in his bed.”</p>
<p>“Fair point.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Dean told me you carry him up the stairs.”</p>
<p>“Yes. He loves that shit. Hot tip, anytime you can make him feel small and light, he’s basically purring. I’ve done it to pull the breaks on him,” Nick turns on the water. It doesn’t need long to turn warm. “Living with him is like trying to stop a stampeding stagecoach team of horses. That guy has no chill whatsoever.”</p>
<p>“I think he’s fairly good at relaxing,” Mike answers.</p>
<p>Nick pulls the shower curtain aside enough to put his head outside. “That’s because when he’s with you, <em>you’re</em> the activity,” he says, grinning.</p>
<p>Mike’s sitting on the toilet lid, having kicked away Nick’s clothing pile. He bends his neck, cheeks flushing prettily as he smiles. “You’re careful, though?”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes and pulls back into the shower. “Yes, Michael. I won’t drop your precious,” he says dryly and, frankly, insulted. “I even hold the handrail. Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>“And when you’re sleeping together, that’s all you do, right?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>“Fuck off. Don’t insult me,” Nick says, lathering up. “I might enjoy teasing you a bit too much, but he and I would never do anything.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles mutedly. “Sorry. Just insecurities acting up a bit.”</p>
<p>Nick shrugs, even if Mike can’t see it. “It <em>is</em> an integral part of your personality,” he agrees.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles, draws breath to say something, but nothing comes out.</p>
<p>“Okay, what is it? Spit it out,” Nick says and massages shampoo into his hair.</p>
<p>“Um, so speaking of insecurities…”</p>
<p>“<em>Yeees?</em>” Nick coaxes with mock-patience.</p>
<p>“Dean, um, he asked me to, um, slap him during sex,” Mike says, mumbling the last barely audibly to Nick.</p>
<p>Nick frowns in annoyance. “Oh, come on, no need to be bragging about how much better your sexlife is than mine.”</p>
<p>“I’m not bragging. It’s, it’s a problem. When I said no, he says it’s fine. But he’s asked me to be rougher before, and asked me to hold him down, and you know I’m not exactly kit-gloves on when I have sex,” Mike complains with a slightly desperate edge to his voice.</p>
<p>It might be many years since the two of them had sex, but Nick still remembers enough to confirm that, yes, Mike can definitely lean towards the rougher type. On the vanilla scale, that is. But still. Nick can see the problem. He can imagine what Dean’s repeatedly tried to ask for. He really shouldn’t. “Mike, as much as I’d like to help you with your problem, you’re gonna have to stop outlining your boyfriend’s fetishes to me, or I’m gonna have to jerk off right now thinking about him and none of us want that,” he says and steps under the spray to rinse off.</p>
<p>Mike makes a noise Nick can’t interpret. “Fuck off. I’m serious. I worry it might become a real problem.”</p>
<p>“Just talk to him about it.”</p>
<p>“I’ve tried to. But he just says it’s fine and tells me not to stop.”</p>
<p>Nick goes completely still and blinks water out of his eyes, staring flatly at the shower curtain in Mike’s general direction. His brain defragments and puts together what Mike just said. “Not while you’re at it, you dumb, moronic, fucking slugbrain. <em>Jesus</em>. You don’t just stop having sex to discuss. Fuck sake, if I told you to bang me harder and you <em>stopped</em>? I’d want to slug you.” He shakes his head and goes back to rinsing off, muttering about what an idiot his smart big brother could be when he’s in love. It’s like his brain dissolved into fumes anytime he fell for someone.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles, sounding embarrassed. “So what do you suggest?”</p>
<p>“Talk to him when you’re both relaxed and not aiming to get off. After sex, cuddling on the couch, or over dinner. Just say something like, ‘So you like it rough? I want to oblige but when I do, it triggers bad emotions in me and I feel like an abuser. I’m willing to test my limits if you meet me halfway, and help put me together again afterwards.’ Or some shit like that. I’m not sure how far you’re willing to go,” Nick grumps.</p>
<p>Mike’s quiet for a bit then chuckles bemusedly. “Alright. I’ll do that. Thanks. I can’t believe I’m coming to you for advice in communication in the first place, but it’s good.”</p>
<p>Nick smirks and shuts off the water. He reaches out to pluck his towel from the wall mounted-drying rack and wraps it around his waist, then steps out of the shower. “I may be shit at talking about emotions, but when it comes to sex, I ace the communication bit. Believe me.”</p>
<p>Mike looks up. “Yeah? How come?”</p>
<p>“I get off on stuff that’d give you nightmares. To find someone that will not only let you do it, but get off on it too, you need to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t remember you being particularly kinky?” Mike says.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “We were <em>14 and 16</em>. My experience at the time you boned me was very limited. I’ve since gone into advanced placement fetish-wise, while you’ve deep-dived into finding your partners’ pleasure points.” He holds up his hands and bends his neck. “Which is not a bad thing. Just saying we’re different.”</p>
<p>They talk for a bit while Nick brushes his teeth. Then Nick heads for the door.</p>
<p>“Are you gonna leave the bathroom like this? You’ve dripped water all over the place,” Mike says, frowning.</p>
<p>Nick makes a dismissive gesture. “Dean will clean it up.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck sake,” Mike complains and grabs a towel to start drying the mess up.</p>
<p>Nick cackles as he leaves. He’s secretly hoping Sam will still be in bed so that he can show off his ass to Sam pretending as if he isn’t shy about being naked in front of his crush (which he definitely is), but Sam’s not in the bedroom when he gets there. He takes his time drying off and getting dressed, then heads downstairs.</p>
<p>The kitchen is crowded. Nick’s not sure how they all managed to find sleeping spaces now that his number of guestrooms have shrunk to barely two, soon to be one. Annie’s sitting on Steve’s lap across from Gabe who seems to be flirting with her. Ennis sits beside Steve and Annie, across from Sam. Mike’s taken the short end of the table, and Dean’s by the stove as usual.</p>
<p>Mike’s currently chiding Gabe, smiling. “...single less than 24 hours.”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes, but single is the key word here,” Gabe says and waggles his eyebrows at Annie.</p>
<p>Annie giggles and hides her face by Steve’s shoulder, peeking at Gabe.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Annie,” Nick says, “We’ll respect ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ and we’ll respect a ‘no’, but the hell we’ll respect a mourning period.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Gabe agrees. “I’m bouncy. I’d be a perfect rebound.”</p>
<p>Annie laughs and bites her lip over a smile towards Gabe that makes Nick think that Gabe might stand a chance there.</p>
<p>As usual, Nick heads straight for Dean by the stove. It’s not until Dean doesn’t turn his head to receive the kiss but rather offers his cheek, that Nick realizes what an idiot he is. “Good morning, darling. How was work?” he asks, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Pretty damn awesome, actually,” Dean says and picks up a fried bacon slice, holding it up by his shoulder and looking at Nick’s mouth when Nick leans in to take a bite. He lets go when Nick’s got the bacon in his mouth and returns his focus to the pancakes he’s frying.</p>
<p>Nick mumbles a thanks, letting his hand slide halfway down Dean’s back as he turns around towards the kitchen table. Only three people are paying attention to him and Dean. Steve, who’s sipping his coffee with an expression that gives nothing away. Mike, wearing the expression he <em>thinks</em> gives nothing away but in reality is as blatant as if he’d been moving his head in an owl-like wiggle, wagging his finger and saying ‘Oh, no you didn’t!’ Then there’s Sam, beaming at Nick with the most beatific smile. Now, see, <em>that’s</em> the only reaction he cares about.</p>
<p>“We seem to be out of kitchen chairs,” Nick notes.</p>
<p>Sam pushes away from the table and pats his lap, just as Nick had hoped. Smugly, he goes to sit down, promptly getting two wonderful arms wrapped around his midriff. Sam puts his chin on Nick’s shoulder and looks at him with impishly glowing eyes. “So how come Dean gets a good morning kiss and I don’t?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Because, darling, the risk is significantly lower that your brother would try to shove his tongue into my mouth. And anytime someone sticks their tongue into my mouth, chances are, I’m gonna end up sticking my di―”</p>
<p>“<em>OKAY</em>,” Dean interrupts him and spins around to point accusingly with the spatula. “Before you consider sticking your dick or any other appendages of yours into my little brother, let me first give you a detailed and descriptive list of every way one can break another person’s spine.”</p>
<p>“<em>Dean</em>,” Sam protests with the loveliest bitchface. “I’m old enough to take care of myself.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, right.” Dean waggles the spatula threateningly towards Nick before he turns back to the stove.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers.</p>
<p>“I am,” Sam persists petulantly. “Besides, Nick said he loves me yesterday.”</p>
<p>Nick groans. “You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he defends. “You were supposed to be as deeply asleep as you seemed to be.”</p>
<p>“But I wasn’t. And I love you too. And I say, you can stick as many appendages as you want in me,” he beams, causing laughter around the table. Even Dean’s chuckling, his shoulders jumping. Mike isn’t amused, and Nick knows he’ll get a lecture about it later. Mike’s absolutely right about giving him one. It’s leading Sam on, even if he and Sam both want it. Nick knows he might have to keep his hands off Sam for years, but Sam doesn’t. And declarations of love might get in the way of Sam finding someone else.</p>
<p>Still, Nick’s never been the smartest tool in the loft, so he twists around halfway and says, “You can have a good morning kiss, darling, if you promise to keep it chaste.” It should be perfectly safe with such a big audience. Especially with Dean around to tear him off if needed.</p>
<p>“I promise,” Sam answers hopefully.</p>
<p>Nick has time to note Dean turn around to look at them before he leans in to slot his lips softly against Sam’s, closing his eyes, lingering. His heart races, his nerves go haywire, and his belly flutters. It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake. It’s a mistake. Then he feels the moist heat of Sam’s tongue in the seam of his lip and he’s on fucking fire. He pulls away. “See? I can’t trust you,” he complains.</p>
<p>Sam sniggers, grinning with not an ounce of shame. The little bastard.</p>
<p>Dean comes to the table carrying a huge stack of pancakes and the tray of bacon. He serves them, fetches a cup of coffee for Nick, then sits down on Mike’s lap to eat. There’s an awkward moment when Gabe says he’s glad Sam’s feeling better, and Dean asks if Sam’s been sick so Sam has to explain what happened yesterday. But Annie and Ennis demonstrate the two-finger salute that means Sam doesn’t want to be touched, by all appearance happy that there’s something they can do to help Sam, even if it’s just as simple as keeping their hands away if he greets them that way. Nick appreciates that. Steve and Sam have collected good friends worthy of holding on to. It’s even more awkward when Dean learns that Sam shared Nick’s bed and asks pointed questions to discern if something happened between them. But that’s only awkward for Nick, since Sam’s gushing happily about holding hands and talking half the night, all while Dean and Nick have a silent conversation with their eyes, basically by Dean saying Nick’s a dead man if Dean finds out Sam’s lying.</p>
<p>Apart from that, Nick’s fucking thriving. All the people around him, laughing, making jokes, and one of Sam’s arms around him as they eat. He’s intensely aware of Sam at all times. Even more so when Sam sneaks his hand inside Nick’s T-shirt to caress gently, eliciting goosebumps and dirty fantasies.</p>
<p>Dean gets up and clears the table, then turns his back on them to do the dishes. Nick considers getting up to help him, but Dean’s whistling ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’ by Frankie Valli, radiating such contentment that Nick decides not to.</p>
<p>“So what kept you two up giggling half the night?” Mike asks Steve and Annie.</p>
<p>“I played with boobs,” Steve declares smugly, making Annie laugh and blush.</p>
<p>“Bro, I thought you were gay?” Ennis says with a confused frown.</p>
<p>“So? They ain’t getting a rise out of me but they’re pretty damn awesome. You know, <em>squeep, squeep</em>? One might say,” Steve leans forward and looks at Dean’s back, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>That gets sniggers all around. Gabe, catching on to what Steve’s doing, looks at Dean and says, “I’d be careful if I were you. That could go… <em>sideways</em>, pretty damn fast.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers along with the rest of them while Sam asks, “Am I missing something?”</p>
<p>Dean tenses up and stops whistling.</p>
<p>Then Ennis says, “I dunno, man, I think it’s cute. <em>You’re</em> cute.”</p>
<p>Dean throws the dish sponge in the sink with a “Fuck,” and turns around, gaze locking on Annie. “You told them.”</p>
<p>Annie giggles and shakes her head. “I didn’t. I promise I didn’t. It was Ennis.”</p>
<p>“Hey, I didn’t know it was some kind of secret. I saw Mike watching one of your videos and told the others.”</p>
<p>“<em>Mike?</em>” Dean’s rapidly turning crimson, wide-eyed gaze jumping to Mike.</p>
<p>“Nick told me,” Mike says apologetically.</p>
<p>Dean looks at Nick who leers. “Why, darling, I told you, I will find out about whatever you’re trying to hide. Next time, just tell me and quit being a difficult little bitch.”</p>
<p>“Shit. So everyone knows, huh? I guess it was just a matter of time, but still,” Dean flusters and raises his hand to rub his neck, but immediately jerks it away with a grimace when he realizes it’s wet and soapy.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. What’s everyone talking about?” Sam says, somewhere between desperate and annoyed that he’s not in on the joke.</p>
<p>“My, uh, I’ve got a YouTube channel,” Dean answers.</p>
<p>“Bro. I don’t get why you were hiding it in the first place. It’s pretty damn awesome,” Steve says.</p>
<p>“Yes, and you’re so brave,” Annie agrees. “I would never have dared to speak so openly in front of the whole internet.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Dean says, smiling, but trying not to beam. “It’s nothing. It’s easier, you know? Talking to a camera. Like a buffer zone. Besides, I only have like 3000 subscribers,” he says and waves his hand dismissively.</p>
<p>“<em>3000?</em>” Sam sputters. “3000 people got to know about your channel before me?”</p>
<p>“Yeah… a bit more than that, actually. Most of my viewers aren’t subscribed. Sorry, not sorry,” Dean says, smile growing into a teasing big-brother grin.</p>
<p>“I’ve got a few ideas for cool vids if you feel like collaborating sometime,” Ennis says.</p>
<p>“Really? Some of y’all would be okay with appearing in my videos?” Dean says, perking up like a dog hearing a squeaky toy.</p>
<p>“Sure,” Gabe says with equal excitement. “You can do a taste testing of my creations. And have you thought about selling merch?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but I dunno what I’d put on it,” Dean says, frowning thoughtfully.</p>
<p>Nick meets Mike’s gaze, looks at Steve, Ennis, Annie, Gabe, all of them trading a look, then turning their heads towards Dean eerily coordinately, speaking at the same time;</p>
<p>“<em>I have no idea what I’m doing!</em>”</p>
<p>It’s followed by laughter and Dean blushing like a grinning fool when he turns back to finish the dishes.</p>
<p>It’s the start of a great day. Dean’s YouTube channel turning into a lowkey group project with Dean happy as a child on Christmas, and Nick sitting cuddled with Sam while they spitball video ideas by the kitchen table, Sam ever so often placing discreet kisses on Nick’s neck, that shoots like bolts through his body.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to all of y'all leaving comments. It means so much to me. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nick's having doubts. He's also very good at justifying questionable choices.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings:<br/>Not really, I don't think?<br/>Possibly triggering discussion of roofies?<br/>Although, a topic will be raised that is likely to annoy asexuals.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Nick presses his ear to the door.</p>
<p>“<em>Bro, you sure this is okay?</em>” Steve says.</p>
<p>“<em>Yeah. It’s fine,</em>” Sam chuckles.</p>
<p>“<em>You sure? You’d tell me if it wasn’t, right?</em>”</p>
<p>Nick frowns, trying to discern if he’ll have to grind his teeth about the two of them having sex tonight or not.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles again. “<em>Yeah, I’ll tell you. It’s just cuddling. This is exactly why I was afraid to tell you. I like being touched. I love cuddling. I feel incomplete without it. Please, Steve, don’t make a thing out of it.</em>”</p>
<p>Nick relaxes and stands up straight, satisfied now that he knows Steve isn’t pussyfooting ramming it in, but rather touching Sam at all. It was Nick that said no to Sam sleeping in his bed tonight, and as such driven him into bed with Steve instead. Not because Steve might need Sam’s support to calm his nerves about the first day on his new job, but rather because Nick and Sam had been a bit too handsy all day and shared two more chaste kisses. And both times, like the absolute jerk Sam is, Sam had tried to slip in tongue.</p>
<p>Now, Nick can handle abstinence. What he can’t handle, is moderation. If Sam slept beside him with nobody around to chaperone, there was only one way that could end.</p>
<p>Satisfied, Nick walks away from the door. He stops and presses his ear against Dean’s door too. Why? Because Mike isn’t vocal in bed but Dean makes the prettiest noises and Nick’s horny. He stands there listening to Dean’s filthy encouragement, whines, and moans long enough to charge his spank bank then heads for his room. Gabe drove Annie home about two hours ago and Nick sends a fleeting thought to his little brother, wondering if Gabe too managed to score.</p>
<p>Nick closes the door and lies down on top of his bedding, lazily stroking his dick through his boxer briefs while he tries to decide on a fantasy. He <em>could</em> just get his laptop and open up Pornhub, but he’s this horny because of Sam’s constant teasing throughout the day and he’d much rather entertain a personal fantasy of some sort. He wonders if Steve likes it rough? It’s not a fantasy he can allow himself in regards to Sam. He’s already pretty sure it’s not something Sam would like.</p>
<p>He settles on just imagining random imagery and pulls his underwear down to get to work. He imagines kissing Sam, deep and filthy, Dean’s beautiful noises, Annie riding him, the sting in his hand right after a slap and Dean’s cheek glowing red, Sam arching his back underneath him - a steady stream in a best-of reel in his head. It doesn’t last long before his belly is striped with come. He wasn’t trying to make it last. He lies there for a while with his eyes closed, holding on to the lingering fantasy of kissing Sam lazily, post-coitally, falling asleep together.</p>
<p>He dwells in that soft and comfortable fantasy for minutes before a nasty brain gremlin starts eating at him and he has to open his eyes and grab tissues to clean himself.</p>
<p>The noxious doubts keep eating at him even after he’s cut the light to try to sleep. He only puts up with it a few minutes before he turns on the light and grabs the book he’s currently reading from the nightstand. But even reading won’t cleanse his mind. After one chapter he puts the book down and disconnects his phone from the charger to send a text to Ella: <tt>You awake?</tt></p>
<p>He stares at his screen waiting. He knows that if she’s awake at this hour she’s most likely watching some movie online and then a notification will pop up on the lower right corner of her laptop when she gets a text. He used to have that app installed too but he just gets annoyed by it.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Ella:</b> Yes.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick writes, <tt>Can I call you?</tt></p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Ella:</b> Yes.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick calls here up. He dives right into it when she answers. “So here’s what happened. Yesterday…” He tells her about Sam’s panic attack yesterday and Sam’s touching problem. He tells her about lying in bed talking, holding hands, mistakenly telling Sam ‘I love you’ and how the little shit answered it right back.</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. “You sound adorably annoyed. Other people are happy when their beloved loves them back, but not you, oh no. You don’t even seem surprised or uncertain.”</p>
<p>“Why would I be? What’s there not to love?” Nick answers and gestures haphazardly with his free hand. He relents. “Anytime I’ve fallen in love it’s been reciprocated. I have no reason to doubt it. Especially not since Sam’s been in hot pursuit of me from the very start. Thing is, it always ends badly. I’m convinced that if we wait long enough we’ll get our shit together and stand a chance at having a happily forever after. But that absolute troll of a dimpled shit is making it very hard.” He goes on to tell her about today. About the kisses, Sam promising to keep it chaste but still trying to slip his tongue in.</p>
<p>“You weren’t much better at that age,” Ella points out.</p>
<p>“No. Which is why I’m calling. If life is kind to us, Sam will get tired of waiting for me and find someone else. But if he doesn’t…” Nick takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling, petting his hair to self-soothe. “There’s a high risk that the touch problem will get worse, right? It did for you.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“What if it settles on no touching? What if he becomes sex-repulsed? It’s not the first time that’s happened to victims of sexual molestation.”</p>
<p>“What about it?”</p>
<p>Nick swallows. “How could I have a long-term monogamous relationship with someone who’s sex-repulsed? You know me. Someone as much as looks at me funny I’m ready to fuck them. I’ve had two relationships go down the drain because the women didn’t put out often enough. The longest relationships I’ve had lasted because we fucked like bunnies. How on earth would I manage to be with someone I love as fiercely as I do that dumb teenager, if it means I can never have sex with him? And don’t tell me love will make it work or some bullshit like that.”</p>
<p>Ella’s quiet for a moment before she sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you. You know I’m on the other side of that problem. There’s this woman at my new job. She’s stunning, funny, smart, and she’s into me…”</p>
<p>“Does she know you’re trans?”</p>
<p>“Yes, we’ve talked quite a bit about it. The problem is, she wants to have sex with me. I think she believes that if we just let it take time, my so-called <em>problem</em> will go away. The truth is more likely that I’ll put up with it once in a while and then need days of space to recover when I do.”</p>
<p>Nick frowns, gut churning anxiously. It’s no good. He wouldn’t want someone he’s in love with to put up with having sex with him just so he can get off.</p>
<p>“I think,” Ella says after a moment’s pause, “that if you and your boy are really determined to make it work, are completely honest with each other, and if he isn’t completely repulsed by everything sexual, there are ways to give you an out for your desires.”</p>
<p>“You think? How?”</p>
<p>“It depends on how important it is for you to actually fuck him, or if it’s enough for you to share the sexual experience.”</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his nose. “What? Like picking up someone else to fuck and then describe it to him or some shit like that? That’s not gonna work. I can only see that ending in tears and Sam feeling worthless.”</p>
<p>Ella laughs. “<em>No</em>. That was not what I was thinking. Gods, Nick, you’re such a swine,” she giggles.</p>
<p>“Tell me something I don’t know,” Nick mutters.</p>
<p>“First of all, I think it would be just as important that he respects and acknowledges that you <em>do</em> desire him, even if you never do anything with those feelings. I know one of my relationships crashed because my girlfriend felt ashamed and guilty about wanting me and she was very respectful of my boundaries. Just like I’m sure you’re gonna be overly aware and respectful of his.”</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head. “You have way too much faith in me. I see myself negotiating and nagging myself into sex at least once a month.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” Ella says skeptically. “And how does it make you feel when you picture doing that?”</p>
<p>Nick makes a face. He hates it when she therapizes him. “Disgusting. Nauseous. Horrible. Anxious,” he answers dutifully.</p>
<p>“Which is why you’ll be so conscious of his boundaries. Stop painting yourself as the monster you’re not. We <em>all</em> have fucked up thoughts, Nicky. It’s okay to have them.”</p>
<p><em>It’s our actions that define us,</em> the Mikey voice in his head reminds him.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, fine. But what solutions can you come up with?” Nick says impatiently.</p>
<p>“Well. Your boy likes to write and sexting is a thing. Maybe he can write you sexy stories and take advantage of the post-coital cuddling once you’ve finished?”</p>
<p>Nick can’t help it. He laughs. He laughs until he nearly cries and it’s not a happy laugh. “Holy fuck. I’m doomed.”</p>
<p>Ella sighs again. “I guess you can’t settle for just jerking off out of sight when the need gets too strong, huh?” she says defeatedly.</p>
<p>Nick’s chest twists painfully. It’s not him Ella’s sad for and he knows it. “I’d really like to answer that I could. And, for Sam, if it came to that, I’d try,” he says and means it. And yet he can feel the edges of depression creeping just thinking about it. It’s not that he doesn’t love what he gets to have with Sam already. The cuddling, talking, giggling like silly schoolboys on their first field trip. He does love it. Fuck, that boy gives him butterflies and jitters and makes him dream of being something better than he is. But could he live without the most physical form of intimacy? <em>Could he?</em></p>
<p>Nick’s pretty certain he’d have a high libido even if he’d gotten to grow up normally, without any creeps putting their dirty hands on him, conditioning him to become what he grew up to be. As it is, he’s over-sexualized by his own trauma. Should Sam end up on the far end of the ace spectrum, fate would’ve played them a very dirty prank where Sam’s aversion would take precedence over Nick’s needs.</p>
<p>“You think your co-worker will ever realize that your sex aversion isn’t a problem that will go away with true love’s first kiss?” Nick asks. He doesn’t bother pushing for a name. That’s Gabe’s department. If it gets serious, Ella will tell him and introduce her.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I hope so. But we haven’t known each other for that long and I’ve been easing her into my background, testing the waters for how much I can tell her. It’s always uncomfortable telling people with no similar experiences what I’ve been through. But I think that if I’m going to dive into something serious they have to know. I’ve tried being vague and it’s always bit me in the ass. I wonder if there’s a dating site for ace people? That would make things so much easier.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure there must be. Have you even checked?” Nick says.</p>
<p>Ella sniggers. “I hate when you call me out like that. No. I haven’t. Online dating freaks me out. I tried once and I’d gotten five dick pics within a day. Plus, who in their right mind starts a conversation with ‘S’up?’ or just ‘Hi’ and nothing more?”</p>
<p>Nick smirks. “I don’t know. I would never. Much better to start off with showing what I’m packing.”</p>
<p>Ella giggles. “There’s literally nobody who likes unsolicited dick pics.”</p>
<p>“Dean does,” Nick answers.</p>
<p>“You sent him one?” Ella says with a scandalized indrawn breath.</p>
<p>“Not yet. But he gets me.”</p>
<p>“Hah. I bet you just <em>think</em> he does, until you send one and he doesn’t appreciate it as much as you thought.”</p>
<p>“How much do you wanna bet?” Nick says, grinning leeringly.</p>
<p>“50 bucks,” Ella states with absolute certainty.</p>
<p>“Done deal. I’ll send you proof after I’ve sent it to him,” Nick says, grinning like a Cheshire cat.</p>
<p>“You’re gonna send it now?” Ella asks, sounding both horrified and a little excited.</p>
<p>“No, jackass, I <em>can’t</em> send it now. Firstly, I’ve just jerked off. Secondly, Mike’s still balls deep in Dean and I’m pretty sure that if Dean sees Mike see him get a dick pic, I won’t be getting his honest reaction, hence losing 50 bucks, <em>and</em> I’d have to deal with an enraged Mikey stomping in here wondering what the hell I think I’m doing.”</p>
<p>Ella laughs long and hard, luring Nick to sniggle along. Ella is usually solemn and serious, trying to see things from the ‘right side’. But ever so often, like now, she could go, ‘Do et. Do eeeet!’ about something ludicrously stupid. The equivalent of pushing a clown on a tricycle into the middle of a busy 4-way crossing, just to see the chaos. Mikey, like the goody-two-shoes he is, never falls for it. But Gabe and Nick? Happy to oblige.</p>
<p>“I think I’ll send it to him while he’s at work,” Nick muses.</p>
<p>Ella’s laughing so hard she’s wheezing. “Oh my god, you’re such a pervert. Do you really think the guy that’s dating our big brother will appreciate getting a dick pick from you, <em>at work</em>?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Nick says with a self-satisfied smirk. Then he goes serious. “And if he doesn’t, at least I will be a safe distance away with a sufficient cooldown period before he can get at me.”</p>
<p>That sets off Ella laughing again. They talk for a while longer then hang up. Nick holds the phone to his chest and shakes his head to himself.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m such an idiot. Too damn easily goaded into doing stupid shit.</em>
</p>
<p>Yet when he puts his phone to charge and cuts the light, he falls asleep with a small smile of anticipation quirking his lips.</p><hr/>
<p>Monday evening Sam and Mike are both at Nick’s place. Dean still forces Sam to study for two hours, but afterward, the five of them, Nick, Dean, Steve, Sam, and Mike, sit drinking tequila in the living room. Dean’s on the couch between Nick and Mike, and Steve’s hogging Sam on the loveseat opposite them. Because of course, Steve’s chosen Nick’s crush as his personal support animal. Like Sam said yesterday, life isn’t fucking fair.</p>
<p>Since they’re drinking on a weekday and all have to get up far too early tomorrow, a certain sense of urgency has led them to drink faster than they probably should, landing them here, sufficiently and pleasantly buzzed already at 8 PM.</p>
<p>Mike, who only arrived an hour ago, asks Steve, “So how did the first day at work go? You were really nervous this morning.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t that bad,” Steve mutters.</p>
<p>“<em>Duuude,</em>” Dean protests loudly. “You looked ready to throw up and when I offered to go with you for moral support you threatened to break my nose!”</p>
<p>Nick cackles loudly, the others laughing with him. Steve bends his neck, shoulders jumping with silent laughter. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry I was such a bitch-ass-cunt.”</p>
<p>Dean snaps his fingers. “Oh! Oh! I know! New drinking game. Anytime Steve says something sexist, homophobic, racist, or otherwise bigoted, we get to drink!” he exclaims, pointing at Steve with a big grin.</p>
<p>"Fuck you," Steve laughs. "Why only when <em>I</em> say something messed up?"</p>
<p>"Because I wanna get drunk fast," Dean answers with a shiteating grin, making them all laugh again.</p>
<p>Sniggering, Mike reminds Steve, "How did your workday go?"</p>
<p>"Okay, I guess? I don't think I fucked up?"</p>
<p>Nick sputters and looks at Mike. "Berger called him a real workhorse and asked me if I had more people like him."</p>
<p>"He did?" Steve asks. "When did you talk to him?"</p>
<p>“About an hour ago,” Nick answers and revels in the complicated succession of expression Steve goes through.</p>
<p>“You talked to Berger and you didn’t <em>tell me</em>?” Steve sputters, once again making everyone laugh.</p>
<p>“Of course I did, you numbnut. You think I’m gonna recommend someone, attach my good name to someone, and then not have a chat with the foreman to see how it panned out?” Nick sniggers. “You did great. Everyone liked you. Chill.”</p>
<p>Steve lets out a long harangue of expletives and not-quite-well-wishes at Nick.</p>
<p>Dean holds up his hands in a stop-gesture. “Woah, woah, slow down! Dammit, Steve! We don’t have enough bottles of tequila for this drinking game if you’re gonna keep that up!”</p>
<p>Sam, who’s got the lowest alcohol tolerance of them all, laughs so hard that he tips to the side and faceplants on Steve’s lap. The first time he did that tonight, Steve had quickly tapped two fingers to his forehead twice then bent his fingers up as if he was nudging the brim of a hat upwards. Nick then realized that it was a modified version of Sam’s sweeping two-finger salute. Instead of signalling no touch allowed, he’d simply and easily understood, made a question of it: ‘Can I touch you back?’</p>
<p>That’s the kind of crap that makes Nick fucking sappy. Mike had also had a sign for them that he needed help. He’d tug on his shirt in a certain way to show he was close to a panic attack and needed to get out of a crowded place. Nick hasn’t thought of that in years, but Mike’s sign (that was an in-group solution, not something suggested by therapists, or other know-it-alls with frou-frou educations in psychology) had been adopted by all the sibling and evolved into a general sign of discomfort and wish for backup. Gabe did it when he felt threatened and couldn’t run and hide somewhere. Ella did it when she was met with transphobia and it was getting to her. Nick did it when he was trying <em>really hard</em> not to beat the living shit out of someone who <em>sorely deserved it</em>, because apparently, that’s ‘against the law’. A simple double tug on the shirt at belly-height came to mean ‘I’m in an emotionally overwhelming situation and need support’. They haven’t used it for years. Nick wonders if the others even remember the sign?</p>
<p>And now Babygay, the most foul-mouthed, bigotry-spouting asshole of them all (Nick not included), had shown off his beautiful, intuitive understanding of how to deal with other people’s emotions. As hard as Steve’s dad had tried, he hadn’t managed to beat empathy out of his son. And now Babygay had come up with a solution that made it possible to set boundaries without having to explain oneself amongst strangers, <em>and</em> a sign to ask for consent relating to platonic touch. Nick wouldn’t be surprised if within a month or two he’d start seeing the rest of the gang use the signs as well. It’s… it’s beautiful. Steve’s such a beautiful individual and Nick’s overflowing with affection.</p>
<p>Nick jerks, almost spilling his drink, when Dean snaps his fingers in front of Nick’s face. “Poochie-poo? Earth to Snickerdoodle? Where ya at, my little Noodlepop?”</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face. “Noodlepop? <em>Noodlepop?</em> Fuck sake!” Again, everyone’s laughing, but this time at his expense. He doesn’t care, he’s busy being insulted by being called noodlepop. It makes it sound as if he has a really thin penis.</p>
<p>“Nah, but seriously, dude. You spaced out looking at Steve with a dreamy smile. I know you’re perving on my little brother, but Steve? I gotta tell you, your wifey is starting to feel left out,” Dean jokes.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m definitely <em>perving</em> on you, my dearheart chick-a-lick,” Nick leers, getting more laughter. Mike’s laughing too, unbothered, since Nick isn’t trying to be flirty and Mike’s hand is firmly rested on Dean’s thigh. “But I wasn’t perving on Babygay. I was admiring that sweet, compassionate, and considerate soul hidden behind the layer of verbal atrocities he keeps spewing.”</p>
<p>Sam lights up. “See!? Steve, I told you I’m not the only one who can see how sweet you are!” he exclaims.</p>
<p>Steve pushes at Sam’s shoulder with a flustered, “Shaddap,” once again setting them off laughing.</p>
<p>They’ve been laughing so much Nick’s cheeks and stomach muscles hurt. “Fuck, I almost feel high. None of you dropped roofies in the bottle, did you?” he jokes. He knows very well that there’s no drug added to the drink. The feeling of being high is just the alcohol heightening the current soaring mood.</p>
<p>“<em>Noo</em>,” Sam laughs. “This isn’t how it feels like to be roofied. You get nauseous and confused, you can’t move properly, tumbling into things. Then you don’t remember shit. Like, not even the slightest fuzziness. Everything just cuts off,” he giggles.</p>
<p>Nick can barely hear Dean's outraged cry because he's laughing so hard. It's not funny that Sam's been roofied. What's funny is Sam's tequila soaked brain blurting it in front of Dean and then laughing about it.</p>
<p>"No!" Dean stands up, pointing at Sam. "You're not supposed to know that! That's it! You're not allowed to drink ever again without a responsible adult around!" His eyes go round and he sits down abruptly. "Oh shit! Where we gonna find a responsible adult? We never gonna get to drink again! Mike," he twists towards Mike who’s covering his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, and grabs his arm, "do <em>you</em> know any responsible adult?"</p>
<p>That's the point where they've reached peak comedy to Nick. It’s over. He’s out. Laughing ‘til he can’t breathe and tears running down his cheeks. Maybe Dean’s freakout might have escalated if Sam and Mike hadn’t also been losing their shit over the unintentional burn. Eventually Steve and Dean laugh too, but they both have that frantic edge you get when you’re laughing at something that’s horrific rather than funny.</p>
<p>"Seriously though, when were you roofied, bro?" Steve asks when they can all breathe again.</p>
<p>"Oh. Um, when I hitchhiked from New York," Sam answers. "But it was so dumb. They only wanted sex. They could've just asked. I wouldn't have said no, and it would've been better for them."</p>
<p>“People like that don’t do it for the sex, Samrose,” Nick says. Sam’s so fucking cute, alcohol-flushed cheeks, eyelids heavy, and dimples deep. “It’s for the thrill of the hunt. They feel empowered, and get a kick out of humiliating people. And, you’re wrong. At least partly. It can feel different to be roofied depending on what drug is used. These days it’s common to use different kinds of benzodiazepines. For instance, if you give someone―”</p>
<p>Nick’s about to launch into a lecture about what drugs to use when Mike starts laughing and leans behind Dean to sock Nick on the upper arm. “Nicky, you ass, this is not the time to go, ‘ooh, my time to shine,’ and start detailing how to use date-rape drugs,” he sniggers.</p>
<p>“Hey, we’re talking about the stuff I took myself for shits and giggles,” Nick defends.</p>
<p>“I know that, but the boys don’t, and it’s not a good look,” Mike says. He’s rubbing soothing circles on Dean’s back as he talks.</p>
<p>“Bro, you took date-rape drugs for shits and giggles?” Steve asks. That’s right. Steve isn’t in the loop. Sam isn’t the only one speaking more freely lately. Nick’s tongue has been looser too. But it was easier with Dean since they’re cut from the same cloth.</p>
<p>Still, Nick decides to go for full disclosure. “I did, yes. I’ve taken everything or anything I’ve gotten my hands on that could even remotely classify as a drug. That’s why we have such a strict no drugs policy in the house. I can handle abstinence but not moderation. And if you tell anyone I’m an ex-junkie I <em>will</em> murder you,” Nick says and grabs his shotglass and a lemonwedge from the table to down his shot.</p>
<p>“Rule number one: Don’t incite murder,” Steve deadpans with a grin. “So how many days have you been sober?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I don’t keep count. I’m actively trying to forget, which is hard to do since my boyfriend died of an overdose a few days after my family locked me in to detox.”</p>
<p>“But,” Dean says, cuddling up under Mike’s arm, “isn’t that something one does to feel accomplishment? To motivate oneself to go on?”</p>
<p>“To many, it is,” Nick agrees. “To me it just felt like counting down to my own failure all while keeping it at the forefront of my mind, so I stopped counting. I’ve got low impulse control. The last thing I need is to explicitly think about my addiction daily. It’s a lifelong commitment and if I count, and don’t fail, I’m just counting the days until I die.”</p>
<p>“That’s deep, bro. Does it make it harder for you if we talk about drugs? We’re a pretty straight-laced gang, but the topic occasionally comes up. You want us to avoid talking about it when you’re around?” Steve asks.</p>
<p>Nick’s once again hit with a wave of affection and admiration for Steve. The guy’s no angel, and this morning when he was nervous he was absolutely nasty to everyone. But his instinct is to help his friends and his intuition on how to do it is good. If he could just quit touching Sam, he’d be even greater. “No. In fact, if you have any fun stories to tell, <em>spill</em>,” Nick says, grinning.</p>
<p>“Drugs ain’t really my jam,” Steve says, “But at my first college party someone brought brownies. And my dumb ass didn’t realize they were <em>special</em> brownies…” He launches into a hilarious retelling of an experience that had been nothing short of horrifying to him and they’re back to laughing their asses off. Mike, who, whatever Dean might think, is a responsible adult, makes sure to add a little caveat about the dangers of tricking people into taking drugs, alcohol, or even something seemingly harmless as switching out diet soda for regular without their knowledge because you never know if they have allergies, take medication, or have diseases that might trigger a bad or lethal reaction. Despite the moral lecture the mood doesn’t shift.</p>
<p>A bit later Dean’s talking. “...and we’re all in the water, right? Wondering where the hell the girls went off to. So we look to the beach, and all five of them sit in a ring around my tiny, shrimp-ass little brother,” he sniggers.</p>
<p>Steve interrupts him mid-story. “Hey, can I just. One thing has been bugging the hell out of me. You were four when your house burned down, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, so?”</p>
<p>“And Sam’s said he was six months old when it happened. But I’ve seen your ID, and it’s not lining up.”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “Dude. He was two when it happened. He doesn’t remember it and back when we were kids he was a complete airhead. I remember hitting a growth spurt and one day I found him crying like a little babe about it. He thought I’d grown ten years older than him and by the time he grew up, I’d have grown to like a hundred or something,” he deadpans without missing a beat. There isn’t a single tell that he’s lying. He’s still relaxed, still displaying the same body language and amusement that he’s done all evening.</p>
<p>“I’m seventeen,” Sam blurts with wide, worried eyes, staring at Steve.</p>
<p>Dean laughs. “See? He’s still confused. You’ve seen his ID. One would think going to college woulda―”</p>
<p>“It’s true. Sam’s telling the truth,” Mike says seriously to Steve.</p>
<p>“<em>Goddammit!</em>” Dean slaps his knees angrily. “Am I the only one who knows how to lie around here? <em>Jeezus Christ!</em>” He gets up and rounds the couch to pace. “You can’t go around telling people, Sam! You get caught in a lie, you persist, okay? Even if they stack heaps of proof against you, you undermine their certainty. It’s not that fucking hard. Fuck!” He stops to point at Sam. “You know what happens if you get exposed? You’ll be kicked out from college, you’ll be struck from their records and be forced to pay back the tuition. Hell, if you’re fifty and your real paperwork should resurface you act surprised, okay? If they find out you know, you could go down for fraud or whatever.” He stares accusingly at Sam for a beat, then runs his hands through his hair and turns away. “Fuck. I’m gonna go take a leak,” he says, then turns on his heel.</p>
<p>Mike moves as if to follow but Nick grabs his arm to stop him. Dean is right, and he should say it, but he’s also wrong and doesn't need them the same way Sam does right now, looking at Steve with a scared and vulnerable expression.</p>
<p>“You got into college on a full ride when you were only 16, bro?” Steve asks Sam.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Sam answers worriedly.</p>
<p>“Far out.”</p>
<p>“A-are we still friends?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>Steve scrunches up his face. “Of-fucking-course we’re still friends. What kind of dumb question is that? You’re my best bro. You think you cheating the system’s gonna change that?”</p>
<p>“No. Yes. Uh, you’ve had sex with me, and um, I know how you feel about age difference in relationships, and, um…”</p>
<p>“Fuck that shit. If not even official places like mental health institutions and college can figure you out then I ain’t gonna be shamed for sleeping with you. And it ain’t the age thing that bothers me about large age gaps, it’s the power imbalance. Nobody’s gonna get to claim I’ve taken advantage of you. I have my faults but that ain’t fucking one of them,” Steve says heatedly.</p>
<p>Sam sags in relief and leans his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“You understand you can’t tell anyone?” Nick says just as Dean comes back and flops himself down between him and Mike again.</p>
<p>“Yeah, and if you do, it doesn’t matter how much I like you, I will fucking murder you, capisce?” Dean adds.</p>
<p>“<em>Bro</em>. I ain’t that stupid. I ain’t gonna rat,” Steve says. Then he grins and puts his arm around Sam. Sam leans into him and puts his hand on Steve’s knee to caress his skin through the hole in his jeans. “Man, the don’t incite murder rule is making more and more sense,” Steve says, caressing Sam’s upper arm thoughtlessly.</p>
<p>They all laugh at that, despite Nick's searing jealousy.</p>
<p>“So, you got any big secrets to trade to put us on equal footing?” Dean asks Steve and lays down, putting his head high up on Mike’s lap and his legs over Nick’s. Dean’s feet are braced against the armrest, pressing his calves pleasantly over Nick’s thighs. The body contact is helping a little to alleviate Nick’s envy of Steve. Still, it’s fucking unfair everyone here gets to cuddle with a too high chance of getting off except him.</p>
<p>“Nah. I did, but not anymore since everyone knows I’m gay now. And I mean fucking everyone, since <em>somebody</em> had mentioned that ‘Babygay’ was about to start working today,” Steve answers with a pointed look at Nick.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers and Dean laughs, holding out his hand for a low five. Nick slaps his hand.</p>
<p>“It’s not funny,” Mike chastises, frowning at Nick, while Mike’s right hand’s fingers scrape through Dean’s hair and his left hand pets Dean’s belly. “You should know better, Nick. You don’t ever out someone.”</p>
<p>“Chill,” Steve says. “It’s okay. Half of the guys don’t believe I’m gay because I like sports, fishing, and to down a couple of brewskies with my bros. Most of them just call me Baby which makes more sense since I’m the youngest in the bunch.” His lips stretch into a smug smirk. “Besides, it earned me a phone number and a lunchtime hookup.”</p>
<p>“But what about Ryan?” Sam asks, looking concerned.</p>
<p>“What about him?” Steve asks defensively.</p>
<p>“You like him,” Sam insists.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I like him hella lot. But I ain’t looking for a boyfriend and we ain’t exclusive. Plus there are some major obstacles to overcome if we’d ever work in a serious relationship.”</p>
<p>“What obstacles?” Mike asks curiously.</p>
<p>“He’s too fucking PC. It’s okay when we’re alone or if he’s here with my friends. But when we’re with his friends his holier-than-thou attitude can make me feel like the lowest of low-lifes. Like when I slip up and use the N-word. Here, Nick or Dean just give me a quick smack on the arm or the back of the head in a silent reminder that I ain’t supposed to say it anymore. But if I slip up amongst them I’m instantly burned at a fucking stake as if I hadn’t been forced to use the word for 21 fucking years to avoid getting my ass kicked. If I used the N-word while talking about Ennis Dad was less likely to kick my ass. I’ve been fucking terrified of my Dad my whole life for good fucking reasons, but none of that matters. I’m just supposed to be able to switch off all that like,” Steve snaps his fingers.</p>
<p>While Steve talks, Nick shoves his hand between the backrest and the outside of Dean’s lower thigh, twisting his hand so he’s cupping the thigh. It doesn’t matter since nobody can see what goes on <em>under</em> Dean and everyone is busy cuddling anyway. He side-eyes Dean to see if Dean will protest. Dean’s looking at him under heavy eyelids, practically oozing contentment every time Mike’s nail scrapes back and forth over his scalp, showing no signs of discomfort. No, he doesn’t mind Nick copping a feel.</p>
<p>“And it’s even worse because they expect people to know stuff automatically or research on their own,” Steve goes on annoyedly. “Take your sister and her kind for example. They weird me out and I don’t get them. I’m not questioning that they’re women. They must be because there’s nothing about them that makes me want to fuck them―”</p>
<p>Steve has to pause because Nick, Dean, and Sam find it hilarious and laugh too loud.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Steve says when they’re quieting down again. “What I’m saying is, there are things about trans people I don’t understand. Like what gender dysphoria feels like and how it makes them so miserable. But according to Ryan and his friends you’re not supposed to ask. And I went online to read up about it because Ella means a lot to you, so it’s important I’m not weird around her, but there are very few descriptions of it so I don’t get it. And then I happened to say that I don’t think I could hook up with a trans man and all the sudden they’re outraged calling me a transphobe. Like, no, bitch, I just find pussy gross and the more I think of it the more nauseating the memories become, of forcing myself to have sex I didn’t want to have. And I explicitly stated <em>hook up</em>, not date. And for fuck sake, if pussy-aversion is the measurement of transphobia then trans men are the biggest transphobes of them all!”</p>
<p>Steve’s getting really worked up about it and it has Nick giggling continuously. He loves when people go on rants. Dean moves the leg Nick’s touching so Nick’s gaze jumps to Dean, ready to pull away at any sign of discomfort. But Dean just bends his leg a little bit, giving Nick’s hand some wiggle room and better access higher on the thigh. Nick registers that Dean’s other leg is still in a position to hide anything Nick might do. Dean’s gaze flicks to Nick. And there, a quick, discreet wink, so quick Nick almost misses it before Dean looks back at Steve and adjusts Mike’s hand on his belly to glide up under his shirt to his chest.</p>
<p>For a fraction of a moment, Nick thinks maybe he’s overstepping and should remove his hand. If he has to do something covertly, he’s doing something wrong. But the alcohol-soaked part of his brain quickly overrides that notion. It’s not like he’s actually doing something. He’s just moving his fingertips on Dean’s leg. It’s not even an erogenous zone. Dean likes it and technically Dean’s single. Nick deserves a little human contact now that he has to watch Sam and Steve cuddle. Steve and Sam are going to fuck tonight. Nick knows it because Sam needs to get it confirmed that he’s still desirable now that Steve knows his age since both Mike and Nick have rejected him based on his age. So Nick definitely deserves to cop a little feel of Sam’s big brother. Besides, Dean started it by putting his legs on Nick’s lap.</p>
<p>“What difference does it make if you hook up with someone or date them?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>“The fuck do I know? Maybe I can overcome my pussy-aversion if I’m in love with the fucker? Have you googled trans man? There are some real fucking thirst traps there, I’ll tell you. And maybe we don’t have to have sex at all? I want to fuck the body but I fall in love with the personality,” Steve answers.</p>
<p>Dean takes the words out of Nick’s mouth by saying, “Woah, you think you could have a boyfriend and never have sex with him? Like, never, ever, <em>ever</em>?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. If I can’t bang Mr. Right, I can still bang Mr. Right Hand,” Steve answers easily, then goes on ranting about how judgemental Ryan and his friends are.</p>
<p>Nick’s listening passively, filing away nuggets of information he mines from Steve’s rant. Steve <em>really</em> likes Ryan. But he’s right to be hesitant about starting a relationship with him. It’s got daddy-issues written all over it. Ryan has a gift for making Steve feel inferior, just like Steve’s dad. At some point Nick will have to sit Steve down and have a ‘talk’ about it. He doesn’t look forward to it.</p>
<p>Instead he focuses on making his caress as much of a pleasant tease as he can to Dean.</p>
<p>Mike and Sam are deeply engaged in the conversation with Steve while Nick finds himself gaze-locked with Dean. Dean's expression gives nothing away except that the cogs in his brain are ticking along. All Nick has to go on is another exciting, little position-shift that gives him even better access.</p>
<p>At one point, Dean turns his face up towards Mike and asks, "What's your stance on threesomes?"</p>
<p>Nick jumps to conclusions. Could he have a threesome with Mike? They're not shy about being naked together, but he thinks they're too far gone into the brotherly side to ever have sex again. But maybe if they just tag team?</p>
<p>"No," Mike deadpans with a smile at Dean, popping Nick's hopeful bubble.</p>
<p>"Alright. Cool," Dean answers.</p>
<p>"Threesomes are overrated," Sam states. "They're soo much work."</p>
<p>"Noo! Damnit, Sammy! There are things I don't want to know about you, alright?" Dean protests loudly. "I've already heard enough things I don't wanna know tonight, okay?"</p>
<p>Nick laughs loudly. Poor Dean. He's going to break into a million pieces the day he gets exactly what has happened to Sam under his fucking nose.</p><hr/>
<p>Nick groans and flops over to burrow his nose in his pillow. He shouldn’t be allowed to drink. Ever. His belly is buzzing with guilt. Before they all went to bed his hand had been almost up by Dean’s crotch, stroking by the inseam of the thigh. That Dean had adjusted his position several times to make it easier for him has no bearing on his guilt. Yesterday, drunk, and jealous of Steve and Sam, it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Just like locking the door when Sam slept after accidentally letting slip his actual birth year had seemed like the reasonable thing to do way-back-when. It isn’t, and he knows it.</p>
<p>It doesn’t matter that Dean invited and encouraged him. Mike’s <em>in fucking love</em> with Dean. And he isn’t pining from afar, he’s going for it, actively romancing Dean despite Dean’s declaration of not wanting a committed relationship. It doesn’t matter that Nick had no intentions of ‘doing anything’ with Dean because if he was already feeling Dean up right in front of Mike, then the definition of ‘anything’ is getting damned murky.</p>
<p>He should take a step back. Drop all the playful wife-jokes. Act more distant. Nevermind how that stupid kiss-greeting and married banter fulfils some repressed dream of partnership and domestic intimacy. He needs to dial back on every sexual joke or innuendo. He can’t keep doing stuff with romantic or sexual subtext or things will go to shit sooner or later.</p>
<p>Nick jerks when someone bangs on the door. Steve tears the door open and sticks his head in. “Hey, asshole!” he says fittingly. “Get up! Your alarm went off 20 minutes ago.”</p>
<p>Nick raises his head to frown at him. “Go away and let me regret yesterday’s choices in peace.”</p>
<p>Steve rolls his eyes, leans out to check if there’s anyone near, then leans in again to say with a much lower―albeit annoyed―voice, “You’re in the clear. Nobody noticed. Now get your lazy ass out of bed.” Then he leaves without closing the door.</p>
<p>Nobody noticed except for eagle-eye Steve, apparently.</p>
<p>Nick whines and rolls out of bed.</p><hr/>
<p>After he’s brushed his teeth and taken a quick shower he goes downstairs, fully set on dropping the whole Dean’s-my-wife game and act like a responsible, hands-off adult.</p>
<p>Mike, Sam, and Steve sit by the kitchen table eating breakfast while Dean’s packing lunch for all of them by the counter. Curious what lunch he’ll get today he goes to peek over Dean’s shoulder to see what he’s putting into the brown paper bags. “Good morning, my little schnuffel-pug,” Dean says, turning around to place a kiss straight on Nick’s lips while simultaneously shoving a plate with a sandwich and a cup of coffee at him. Nick reciprocates on autopilot, instantly internally cursing himself for failing to keep his resolve at first contact with the ‘enemy’. “I trust you slept miserably?” Dean says with a grin.</p>
<p>“You know me too well, Tootsie roll,” Nick answers and takes the offered breakfast.</p>
<p>“Nah. Sam was just being loud,” Dean dismisses with a shiteating grin. “Now go eat your breakfast, Poochie-poo.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands.</p>
<p>“Thank you, mein Strudel.” When Nick turns towards the table they're all grinning at him. So maybe the brief kiss and the contest of who can come up with the most ridiculous endearment isn't overstepping after all?</p>
<p>Nick sets his plate and cup down beside Sam, who's smiling up at him. Nick quickly taps two fingers to his temple twice with the little sweep up at the end, wordlessly asking if Sam's okay with being touched. Hopefully Sam's had an awful reaction to having sex and nobody can touch him, especially not Steve.</p>
<p>It's a vain hope. Sam answers by licking and puckering his lips, waiting for his own good morning kiss.</p>
<p>Nick bends down to give him one, but stops a few inches away from Sam's face. "No tongue," he admonishes.</p>
<p>"Of course," Sam says.</p>
<p>Nick closes the gap, slotting his lips against Sam's with his belly swooping, closing his eyes. His heart squeezes with joy. This is the difference. It makes him so mad that a mere boy can make him feel this way. How a soft press of lips can melt trouble away and make him hopeful of the future. How Sam so easily can turn his body to one giant lepidoterrarium, just like Azazel once had.</p>
<p>Of course, that's when Sam decides to ruin it all by slipping him tongue. Nick opens up for it before he can stop himself. It’s a jolt to the system. He pulls away with a frown and a racing heart. “Dammit, Sam! I said no tongue!” he says and sits down beside Sam. He can’t toe the line with Sam if Sam keeps disregarding what he says.</p>
<p>Sam grins. “You want it,” he says smugly.</p>
<p>“Yes, but I said no. And I also want to grab you by the neck, bend you over the kitchen table and fuck you until you’re a crying mess, but you don’t see me doing that,” Nick says. Sam puts his hand on Nick’s thigh so Nick instantly covers Sam’s hand with his own and laces their fingers together both to reassure Sam and himself that nothing between them is ruined (and also to keep Sam from sliding his hand higher up).</p>
<p>“You <em>could</em>,” Sam purrs teasingly.</p>
<p>“I know I could. Because I’m an egocentric, violent asshole with low self-control, and no matter how much you bench press, you're a puppy dog who freezes up instead of defending yourself and you can't say no," Nick deadpans and digs into his sandwich.</p>
<p>"No tongue, Sammy. It's against the rules, and if you keep disregarding them, I'm gonna have to revoke your privilege to kiss my husband,” Dean jokes and goes to sit down, ignoring a perfectly good chair in favor of Mike’s lap.</p>
<p>“You mean to tell me you’ve established kissing rules?” Mike asks with a skeptical chuckle, wrapping his arms around Dean to keep him in place.</p>
<p>“Nick and I? Nah, we’re going on common sense. But Nick set boundaries for Sam so those stand. Oh, and, sorry, babe, but this needs to be done,” Dean says and cups Mike’s head with both hands to pull him in for an unquestionably filthy kiss that very visibly and for an extended time involves tongue. Nick’s jealous but sniggers at the excellent humor.</p>
<p>When Dean finally pulls off with a smug smirk towards Sam, Mike says, “If you’re trying to distract me from the fact that Nick has no common sense, it’s working.”</p>
<p>Nick smirks at Mike and lifts Sam’s hand to place a kiss on the back of it before placing it down on his thigh again. Sam, who had been glaring resentfully at Dean, turns his attention back to Nick (as he should) with a dazzling smile. Later, from this afternoon on, he’ll take measures to distance himself from Dean. This morning, it’s too late. But later. Not now.</p><hr/>
<p>Breaking habits you don’t want to break is hard, but he’s managed to avoid Dean almost entirely since Tuesday morning. When they did briefly meet, Dean had been OCD-ing to high heavens. Nick suspects the withheld playful affection might be the reason for that, but it can’t be helped. At least tonight there won’t be a struggle to be a good guy since it’s Wednesday and Dean won’t be home until the middle of the night.</p>
<p>Steve came home with company today. Nick cooped himself up in his room because the guy Steve brought home is José Chavez, a colleague Nick’s worked with many times and never realized was gay. Having him here was awkward and Nick’s closed the door and is watching Dean’s latest upload that’s a video on how to mend jeans. He has some damn fine stitches and it’s easy to follow along. Nick pauses the video and goes to fetch his sewing kit and a pair of busted jeans to see if he can salvage them. He can’t sew for shit and the damn jeans had ripped in the ass-part, rendering them unusable.</p>
<p>He restarts the video and follows along Dean’s instructions with moderate success, putting the laptop aside to focus on making neat stitches with his tongue sticking out in concentration.</p>
<p>His phone beeps. He puts the jeans down to pick up his phone.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Ella:</b> Admit it. You owe me fifty bucks.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick frowns at his screen, not understanding. Why would he owe―</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh no.</em>
</p>
<p>Nick puts down his phone without answering and goes back to mending his jeans with a lump of worry in his belly. He could just lie and say that, yes, he had sent a dick pic and Dean didn’t like it, then pay 50 bucks. That would be the sensible thing to do.</p>
<p>His pride rebels. It’s a bet he’s sure he <em>can’t lose</em>.</p>
<p>But if he sends the pic, he’d be doing the opposite of what he’s trying so hard to avoid.</p>
<p>At no point does he even consider the possibility of telling Ella he decided not to send the pic for Mike’s sake.</p>
<p>Exactly how bad could the consequences be if he sends it? It can’t be that bad. And, hey, most likely it would stop Dean from OCD-ing the way he’s been doing ever since Tuesday evening when Nick averted his face instead of receiving the greeting-kiss. The poor boy must be wondering what he’s doing wrong and thinking Nick’s punishing him.</p>
<p>
  <em>We can’t have that, now can we?</em>
</p>
<p>Nick thrills in anticipation for the reaction. He’ll be doing it for Dean’s sake. To let him know he’s done nothing wrong. That’s a good reason. He isn’t doing it out of a selfish reason, just to sucker 50 bucks off his sister. No. It’s for Dean. It’s practically a favor.</p>
<p><em>The amount of bullshit you tell yourself to justify bad behavior is astounding,</em> the judgemental Mike-voice in his head tells him.</p>
<p>He ignores it.</p>
<p>The decision is made. He still takes his time and finishes sewing his jeans, unpauses his laptop to see how he’s supposed to tie the thread off, does as instructed and puts everything away when done. He pulls down his pants, removes his shirt, opens up the dick pic Dean (well, technically Gabe) sent him, and strokes himself to full mast. Once he’s hard he takes a couple of pictures, chooses the best one, and sends it to Dean.</p>
<p>Dean’s working so the answer might take a while. Nick’s too excited and jittery to finish himself off. Instead, he lies waiting. What if he’s wrong about Dean? What if he’s just projecting? They have so much in common and he <em>thinks</em> he’ll get a positive reaction, but what if he doesn’t? <em>What if he doesn’t?</em></p>
<p>It’s been several minutes and he’s working himself into a bad case of Regrets™ when his phone beeps. He scrambles for it.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Jesus Christ, Nick!</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> I’m at work, what am I supposed to do with that HERE?</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> I can’t just sneak off and jerk off willy-nilly.</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Actually, I can, but you’ll have to wait 20 minutes to when I have my break.</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Natural blond, huh? That’s a nice piece of junk you got there. Fuck me. You’ve got some girth on you.</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Hold that thought, I gotta get on stage.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick’s grinning so hard it hurts. He <em>knew</em> Dean would like it! He makes a screencap and sends it to Ella, writing, <tt>Nope. You owe ME. Do you want me to send you the picture I sent him too?</tt> 😈</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Ella:</b> Ew, no. 😂 Damn. I really thought I had it in the bag this time.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick doesn’t respond to her. She’s a smart girl. She’ll understand that he has a much more interesting conversation going on at the moment. Nick waits to see if Dean will message him again.</p>
<p>Sure enough, five minutes later another text comes.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Okay, so how do we do this? I’ve never done this with a guy. It’s the same as with a girl, right? I’ll soon have a 30 minute break.</tt><br/>
<tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Am I making faulty assumptions here? You want to get off, right? Or am I making a fool out of myself?</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick taps out a reply, biting his lip: <tt>No, you’re reacting exactly as I wanted, darling. Send me a picture when you’re ready to have some fun.</tt></p>
<p>Less than an hour later Nick’s staring at the ceiling, too sated and content to guilt trip just yet. Maybe exchanging dick pics, sexting, and jerking off together wasn’t the greatest idea he’s ever had, but it’s not like they’d actually done anything. How could they, when they’re so far away from each other? They’d been good, keeping a certain impersonality by texting instead of doing it through a call. He’ll simply pretend to be asleep when Dean comes home and they’ll never speak of it again. This doesn’t count. It’s not like he would ever do anything with Dean in real life…</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Asexuality and sex-averseness can be temporary, caused by trauma or medication. It can also be something you're born with. Everyone's need for physical intimacy and sex vary both to a general degree and depending on circumstances. For many of us, sex is an important part of bonding with our romantic partner. In my discussions with asexual people I've often found that while they grasp that allosexual people (people who experience sexual attraction) like to have sex to get off, they don't always grasp the importance of the emotional part of sex with someone you love. Just like I've seen allosexual people not understand how asexual people can have sex at all, masturbate, or get aroused by reading smut.  The divide between our needs makes a relationship difficult in the long run. I personally think that if you're really set on making it work, you can, but it's super important that both parties are open, honest, and respectful of each other's differences. As an allosexual trying to date an ace, it's very easy to feel ashamed of desiring the ace. It's also easy to feel one's self-confidence slip and get depressed. What's wrong with me? Why can't I attract my partner? Am I a bad person for needing physical intimacy when my partner doesn't like it? I personally don't think I could be in a long-term committed relationship to someone who's touch averse or repulsed by the very idea of sex. But if cuddling and perhaps kissing is on the table, and the person is accepting of my attraction for them, I think we could work out alternative solutions to make it work without any kind of overtly sexual intimacy. But I'm 40, and I've spent a lot of time thinking stuff like this over. The characters in the story are young. They're still learning the importance of good communication by failing at it.</p>
<p>Important note! We brushed through it when talking about roofies, but I've seen posts on Twitter and Tumblr of people switching out diet soda orders for regular full-sugar sodas because they thought it was hypocritical of a fat person to order diet soda. DO NOT DO THIS! I fully expect all of my readers to be great people with compassionate hearts because that's what I believe of people in general, okay? But in case you ever think of being passively aggressive about something like this, people might have medical conditions that make them order diet products or soy-based stuff or whatever. Someone with diabetes who has to take insulin daily might have to micro-manage their sugar intake or the repercussions can be lethal, like if they accidentally drink regular soda.</p>
<p>So. A slight spoiler. I'm not letting Sam or Mike get hurt by what's going on between their brothers. Any and all angst will fall on Nick and Dean exclusively.<br/>[<i>Steve: "Fuck you, writer. I'm here and I can fucking see what's going on, and you don't think that fucks me up to be caught in the middle of this bullshit?!"</i>]<br/>Like I said, <i>nobody</i> but Nick and Dean will suffer for their stupidity.<br/>[<i>Steve:</i>]<br/></p>
<p>I ask you to trust me that it will be resolved in a way where it won't be a threat to either their long-term friendship or their respective relationships with their brothers/lovers.</p>
<p>That said, I expect at least a few of you to be pissed at them and you have good reason to feel that way. ^^ The rest of you, go grab your popcorn. ;D</p>
<p>As you might have noticed, the name of a chapter centers around who plays a key role, not the POV. My current planning for the upcoming chapters are Mike followed by Sam. This might change depending on what happens in the chapters, but that's what it looks like now. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mike and Dean have trouble communicating and understanding each other's needs, which blows some minor hiccups out of proportion in Dean's mind. Nick tries to help, but maybe he isn't quite as dedicated to the purpose as he could be.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No trigger warnings for this chapter, I think?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>“Again,” Nick commands.</p>
<p>Dean groans. “Do I have to? Scales are boring.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Again. Let me feel it this time,” Nick persists and puts one hand over Dean’s diaphragm, and another on his back, eyes sharp and stern, honed in with the focus of a drill sergeant. Just like Dad. The only difference is that if he got too bratty and sulky the punishment would only be a quick smack on the back of his head and persistence that Dean do as he’s told. Unlike Dad, Nick didn’t get <em>mad</em>.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Dean grumps. Honestly, he’s scared shitless he’ll piss Nick off as he did a few weeks ago. He’s still not sure what he’d done to get the cold shoulder for two days. Luckily Nick had a very nice way to show him he was forgiven. (Maybe it would’ve been nicer if he hadn’t sent the pic while Dean was at work. But then again, it added a certain suspense to the excitement so maybe not.) Dean takes a deep breath and sings the scales one more time, this time with Nick’s big hands bracketing him.</p>
<p>“Good. Perfect. Steve, wasn’t that perfect?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Steve agrees disinterestedly, spinning on the stool behind the drums. He’d come down to join them waiting for the others to arrive. While playing instruments isn’t his thing, he still enjoys the company.</p>
<p>“See? Even Steve thinks it was perfect. You’re ready. It’s time for you to sing with us tonight,” Nick says.</p>
<p>Dean automatically flinches and takes a step towards the door, but Nick’s hands tighten, stopping him in his tracks, pulling him back. “No. Nope. Not doing it. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”</p>
<p>“Darling, you can. You’ve got your runs down, your mic control is so much better, and―”</p>
<p>“Nonono, you don’t understand,” Dean begs frantically. “I <em>can’t</em>.”</p>
<p>Nick shifts and grips Dean’s face between his palms, close and grounded, too calm while Dean feels like a skittish horse. “I understand perfectly fine, darling. But that’s what you said about singing in front of me too and you’re doing it just fine now.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that, that, that’s different,” Dean stutters.</p>
<p>“It’s not. I promise you it’s not. It’s all in your head and he’s already heard you sing. I’m certain he’s responsible for a good portion of the views on all your covers,” Nick cajoles.</p>
<p>Dean closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Nick’s chest. He’s uploaded 3 covers to YouTube this far. The third one was made with Mike in mind and had caused Dean a mindfuck out of proportion when Nick had barged in during filming. Dean had sung ‘Wherever I lay my hat (that’s my home)’ by Paul Young, wearing his fedora. By the end of the song Nick came inside demanding Dean come help him with something, plucked the hat off Dean’s head and put it on himself, and wandered off, expecting to be followed. Dean was left reeling, wondering why that shook him so much. The song was meant to Mike as a pushback towards Mike’s frequent hints that maybe it was time to take it to the next level and make them official.</p>
<p>But Mike had worked a lot of overtime and turned down dates a few times with the excuse that he was exhausted and needed to be alone. Which, by all means, was probably true. Dean knows him well enough now that he knows that interacting with a lot of strangers will absolutely drain Mike to his very core. One of the days Mike had turned him down Dean had showed up anyway under the pretense of dropping off homemade dinner. Mike was in his PJs looking just as wrung out as he’d claimed, and he’d been happy to see Dean even if Dean had turned down the invite he got then, to just steal a kiss and be on his way. Dean wasn’t checking if Mike was fucking someone else behind Dean’s back. That’s none of his business. No, he was checking if Mike was lying.</p>
<p>Nick’s right. The problem of singing in front of Mike is all in Dean’s head and it’s grown. It’s irrational but he can’t fucking do it. “I won’t,” he says and hooks his fingers in Nick’s belt loops.</p>
<p>Nick sighs. “Not today then. But you will. No more stalling. You’re ready,” he says and pets Dean’s hair comfortingly.</p>
<p>They both flinch when Steve suddenly plays a loud ‘<em>ragga-dish</em>’ on the drums. “Okay, time to tone that down, I heard a car park.”</p>
<p>“Tone what down?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>Steve gives him a flat look as if he’s dumb as a brick for asking. “Bro. Just take your fucking position. The guys are incoming.”</p>
<p>Nick pulls away with a snigger and goes to pick his guitar from its stand. Dean shrugs a silent ‘<em>What?</em>’ at Steve.</p>
<p>Steve gives him a resentful glare and starts drumming a steady beat, not offering an explanation.</p>
<p>A beat later they can hear the door and Mike call out a greeting. Dean dodges out of the room to meet Mike in the hallway, away from Steve’s judgemental glare.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike looks tired and happy, his constant state the last couple of weeks. Nick’s lucky. Last week they finished a build and now they’re renovating a building just across the street from Mike’s office. They’ve been having lunch together every day and Nick likes it, even if Mike talks way, <em>way</em> too much about Dean.</p>
<p>“...don’t understand. We see each other at least three times a week and he’s not seeing anyone else, so why not make it official?” Mike complains goodnaturedly and stuffs food in his mouth.</p>
<p>“Not seeing anyone else as far as you <em>know</em>,” Nick points out, delighted that Mike stops chewing, looking at him with sudden trepidation in his eyes.</p>
<p>Mike covers his mouth with a hand and asks around his food, “Is he?”</p>
<p>Nick chuckles and shakes his head. “No,” he lies easily. “But you’re only seeing him three days a week. He <em>could</em>.”</p>
<p>Mike gives him a reproachful look and continues chewing. “Don’t scare me like that.”</p>
<p>Nick points at him with his fork before he goes on to cut his steak. “Dean is a needy sonnova bitch with the huge flaw that he respects a ‘no’. I’m just saying that you might want to stop turning him down when he asks you out.” Every time Mike had blown Dean off Dean had ended up going out not to come home. But, dutifully, he’d reported in to Nick so Nick wouldn’t worry. Dean wasn’t <em>seeing</em> someone else. That would imply it was someone regular. But he sure as hell had had one-night stands. Not that Nick is going to tell Mike that.</p>
<p>“Nick, you know how draining work has been lately. I would make shit for company. I just want to lie with my headphones and listen to music in peace. Sure, I’d like it if I could do that cuddled up to him, but that doesn’t exactly make for a good date, does it?”</p>
<p>“Have you offered? Because one, he can’t be alone, and two, he’s very low maintenance when it comes to entertainment. He can find something to do in an empty room. The guy just wants to be near you. Surely, you can put up with that?”</p>
<p>“I guess I can ask him the next time,” Mike concedes and looks content again.</p>
<p>Nick takes a bite of his food and wonders if he should try to hammer home how badly Dean needs people around him and to be touched. He’s pretty sure Dean didn’t go out and hook up with someone when Mike blew him off because he was resentful, but because he needed confirmation that he was still worthy of attention. “Maybe you should ask him to move in together?” Nick regrets the suggestion the moment he’s suggested it. That would mean Dean moving out. He’s not keen on losing his housewife who did so much to keep their home lively and a joy to be in.</p>
<p>Mike laughs. “Oh, yes, sure. He doesn’t want to officially date me, but moving in together? Why not?” he says sarcastically.</p>
<p>“Think about it. I think he’d be much more willing to commit if you saw each other seven days a week.”</p>
<p>Mike smiles and shakes his head, giving Nick a pitiful look. “Normal people don’t just move in together straight away like that. As wonderful as it would be falling asleep with him every night, my apartment is too small for two people. We’d have to move to something bigger. He’d need a computer room, for instance.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense. He could keep his computer at my place and come and go as he likes. He shoots most of his videos outside of home anyway. If you want to move in together, things could be solved.”</p>
<p>Mike shoots him down. “It’s too soon.”</p>
<p>Nick could go on arguing but he doesn’t want to. He’s pretty sure Dean would seriously consider Mike’s offer if it came and Nick would be out of the best roommate he’s had in years. “Speaking of sleeping,” he says instead, “when he sleeps at your place, does he sleep?”</p>
<p>Mike stuffs more pasta in his mouth and raises his eyebrows in question.</p>
<p>“I mean,” Nick clarifies, “how many hours does he sleep? I found makeup removal pads in the trash. It isn’t mine and it isn’t Steve’s. I suspect Dean’s covering up the bags under his eyes. I’ve been keeping track and it seems that most nights he gets between 3-5 hours which isn’t nearly enough and he’s light-speeding towards a burnout.”</p>
<p>Mike frowns, troubled now. “Normally, I’d give you a piece of my mind about going through trash to keep track of people, but that sounds pretty serious. I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. We fall asleep later than I usually do because of, you know…”</p>
<p>“The vigorous sex, yes, I surmised,” Nick smirks. “Come to think about it, Dean could do well to have the occasional falling-asleep-together-on-the-couch date.”</p>
<p>“I’ll definitely ask him the next time.”</p>
<p>“And while we’re on the topic of Dean, have you talked to him about rough sex yet?”</p>
<p>Mike sighs and grabs his soda. “Yes, I tried. Didn’t go so well.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t try while you were having sex again, did you?” Nick asks suspiciously.</p>
<p>Mike rolls his eyes. “No. I did what you told me. But he shut me down almost immediately. ‘It’s not your jam. End of discussion.’”</p>
<p>Nick hums. “And I take it you didn’t persist? You were just glad the conversation was over and you didn’t have to trudge your way through awkwardness?”</p>
<p>Mike looks down at his plate and takes a sip of his soda. “I should have, shouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>“No, you do you. You don’t actually want to be rough with him so why persist?”</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. “Wow. That sounded so bitter one might think you’re jealous,” he teases.</p>
<p>“You’re damn right I’m jealous. I haven’t had sex in months, Mike. <em>Months</em>.”</p>
<p>Mike, of course, laughs at him as the asshole he is.</p>
<p>“Oh, real funny,” Nick scowls at him. “Not only have I not gotten to fuck, but I have to listen to other people get off weekly. My only luck is that Steve and Sam haven’t had sex since the night Steve found out about Sam’s age.”</p>
<p>“At least that’s not age-related,” Mike says, trying to hold back more sniggers. “It seems they’re heading down the same path as we did where their friendship grows more into a brotherhood each day.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Besides, you can just give Angela a booty call after work if getting off is all you’re after. Has she ever said no to any of us?”</p>
<p>Nick grumbles incoherently. It’s true that she’s never turned any of them down. She was one of the first to seek them out after a gig and more than once all of them had ended up going home with her. In fact, she was the last person Nick fucked. The day after Dean had been reunited with Sam at their gig and Angela and Nick had their little blowout about ‘queer’, Angela texted and offered him to stop by to ‘talk things over’ like she always did after any of their arguments. Not that they did much talking but it was enough to unruffle feathers.</p>
<p>“It’s your own fault,” Mike adds, amused smirk dancing on his lips. “If you didn’t choose to stick around and simp for Sam anytime he comes over, you wouldn’t be having this problem.”</p>
<p>It’s true. Sam’s back to spending all weekend at Nick’s and coming over some weekdays. And if Sam was there, of course Nick’s going to try to be near, hoping for cuddles and well-monitored kisses. The last couple of weeks have been heaven and hell because of it. But Sam’s mental health is like a goddamn yo-yo and Nick’s back to having nightmares about sleeping with him. But since they don’t go out amongst strangers it doesn’t leave Nick with many options.</p>
<p>Mike kicks his shin, dragging him out of his bitter reverie. “Hey, has Gabe told you anything concerning his romance with Annie?”</p>
<p>“Huh? No. But they’ve been looking fairly lovey-dovey lately,” Nick answers, glad for the distraction.</p>
<p>“Mmmhm. He said that he thinks he’s a little bit infatuated with her,” Mike says, mischief sparkling in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Hohoo. Strong words coming from our little brother,” Nick says, wolfish grin growing on his face.</p>
<p>“You know what that means?” Mike agrees with an excited nod.</p>
<p>“Let the teasing commence!” They snigger conspiratorially before Nick remembers what he’d planned for the day. “Oh. Before I forget, you’re coming out with me tonight.”</p>
<p>The glee falls from Mike’s face. “Tonight? It’s Wednesday. I won’t get off from work until 8 and I’ll be dead on my feet.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a surprise for you. You’ll love it. I promise.”</p>
<p>Mike grimaces and sways from side to side like a cornered animal. “Do I have to?”</p>
<p>“Trust me. You’ll think it’s worth it.”</p>
<p>Mike’s shoulders sag. “It better be,” he mutters.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike’s head is simmering. Nick knows how he gets during periods like this at work. Everyone’s stressed out, and there are so many client interactions each day. <em>Phone calls!</em> The bane of his existence! Every part of him is taut as a bow string during the work day. Yet outwardly he’s no longer the shy man with a slight stutter that blushed at every tiny misspoken word that he was when he started. He kept it together, smiled, was nice and encouraging towards both clients and coworkers, all while screaming on the inside. All but collapsing like someone cut his strings when he made it inside the door of his apartment in the evenings, mentally drained to physical exhaustion.</p>
<p>Nick knows that he gets like this during hectic times at work but he still asked him to come along. That’s why Mike’s here. Nick wouldn’t ask this of him unless Nick needed him or he really thought he was doing something nice for Mike. So Mike keeps his pleasant work mask plastered on as he strolls beside Nick and Sam down the street. Nick and Sam are holding hands, giving each other cutesy smiles keeping up a lighthearted conversation that Mike’s more than happy to listen to rather than participate in.</p>
<p>It had come as a surprise that Nick hadn’t had sex in so long. Back when Nick lived alone he'd go to the closest bar and chat someone up at least once a week. Mike had no reason to believe he'd stopped. Nick was as happy with a filthy quickie with a stranger in a restroom as he was pulling an all-nighter with a regular hookup. Nick’s sex-drive is sky high and Mike’s impressed by his ability to keep to himself. It’s really a testament of how in love with Sam he is, to be able to do that. That revelation is more telling about how strong Nick's feelings for Sam are, than any words or other actions up to this point.</p>
<p>Mike hadn’t paid much attention to where they were going, but now he sees something he recognizes. “Look! Dean took me to that restaurant on a date,” he says and points at the Bacchus Foyer.</p>
<p>“He did? Oh, that looks like a really romantic place,” Sam says longingly then looks at Nick.</p>
<p>“Would you let me take you there some day?” Nick asks with a pleasant smile. It’s not Nick’s type of joint and Mike’s sure Nick will complain about having to wear a suit when that day comes, but Mike’s also sure that if he points out that he doesn’t <em>have</em> to wear a suit, Nick will be offended at the very suggestion of not doing it correctly.</p>
<p>“I’d love that,” Sam says with another beautiful smile at Nick. Nick raises their joint hands to place a kiss on the back of Sam’s hand.</p>
<p>Mike doesn’t mind thirdwheeling when he’s this tired. That takes the load of him to be social. But right now he suddenly feels a bit annoyed. It just hits him that Nick’s doing exactly the same thing as Dean. He’s dating Sam. He is <em>literally</em> dating Sam. They’re acting like boyfriends with only eyes for each other and Nick’s doing date-y things, but he refuses to commit, just like Dean. How hard can it be to just accept that they’re boyfriends? <em>Why</em> is Dean still refusing?</p>
<p>Mike takes a deep breath. Nick’s doing the right thing not to commit to a traumatized 17-year-old. If anything, he’s doing wrong by acting like a boyfriend and romancing Sam. But the two of them are so damned in love with each other that it’s hard to tell Nick to step back and keep it purely platonic. Nick and Sam isn’t the problem. The problem is that Mike can’t understand why Dean refuses to commit. “Next door is Bacchus Backyard. They have…” Mike goes on to tell them about the concert arrangement between the restaurant and the night club, knowing how much it’ll interest Nick.</p>
<p>Nick hums with delight in his eyes, just like Mike knew he would, then herds them towards a place not far away from the restaurant. They step inside.</p>
<p>Mike’s too tired to pay much attention as Nick takes them to the bar and orders drinks for them. A girl is singing karaoke (quite horribly) but you can’t see much of the scene from the bar. Nick fills in a form that he hands to the bartender, then holds his glass up for a toast. Mike and Sam clink their glasses with Nick and drinks. Mike’s instantly grateful. He can taste that Nick’s ordered a non-alcoholic San Francisco for him. When he’s this exhausted he’d get drunk all too quickly, but with a drink like this nobody will see that he isn’t drinking alcohol.</p>
<p>The girl finishes singing.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Janice, that was awesome! Next up, it seems like I’ll get the honor to sing ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ with Malinda. Malinda, come on up here!”</p>
<p>Mike nearly drops his glass when he hears the familiar voice of the karaoke host. His heart jumps excitedly in his chest.</p>
<p>“That’s Dean!” Sam exclaims in surprise.</p>
<p>Nick’s grinning like a loon at them, eyes twinkling. He puts a finger over his mouth and hushes them. “Shhh. He’s not likely to see us from here. He’s been a nervous wreck about singing in front of Mikey. We’ve been practising, but he’s chickened out. Now it’s time. We’re keeping hidden until his next solo. If you stand here, you can see him and it’s unlikely he’ll discover you," he says and moves Mike and Sam a bit further down the bar so the scene becomes visible between two pillars.</p>
<p>“Do I tell you often enough that I love you?” Mike asks Nick while staring at the scene where Dean smilingly helps a girl up.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Every time we speak on the phone.”</p>
<p>“I’m serious, Nicky, I love you,” Mike persists.</p>
<p>Nick grins. “I told you you’d like the surprise.”</p>
<p>Mike would answer, but Dean and Malinda start to sing, and Mike forgets about everything else.</p>
<p>“Wow,” Sam says after a moment. “Dean’s got a great stage presence.”</p>
<p>Mike can do nothing but hum in agreement, enchanted by the charming man on stage.</p>
<p>“That little bitch was made to be on stage,” Nick says. “I want him to join the band but I have to break him out of the ridiculous idea that he can’t sing in front of Mike or the world will come crushing in on him. He was nervous to sing in front of me too but it worked to spring it on him while he was on stage, so I figured…” Through the corner of his eye, Mike sees Nick gesture at him.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “I hope he won’t get mad.”</p>
<p>“That’s why I didn’t tell you where we were going. That way, the only one he can be mad at is me,” Nick says, making Sam laugh.</p>
<p>For the next 30 minutes, Mike’s completely swept up in gazing at Dean. He’s a great singer but even more so, he’s so damn charismatic. He’s a total flirt with everybody. It’s not something that makes Mike jealous. He understands the difference between a stage persona and real life. How can anyone be jealous when Dean flirtily compliments two 70-year-old ladies taking the stage, then yelps and grins as if he just got a present when one of them pinches his ass? No, Dean’s set on making anybody taking the stage feel good about themselves regardless of their age or gender, and Mike loves him even more for it.</p>
<p>“Alright, what’s next?” Dean asks. His helper hands him a paper. “Dean reads and grins, looking up. “Y’all really like it when I sing the song, huh?”</p>
<p>A group of maybe ten people that appear to be regulars cheer and wolf-whistle.</p>
<p>“Alright. Can’t bereave you of that joy, now can I?” Dean jokes and winks at the large table where the regulars are sitting.</p>
<p>Nick leans close to Mike and quietly says, “This is the solo. We’re moving to the table I reserved for us half-way into it.”</p>
<p>Mike nods without taking his eyes off Dean. Dean gestures at his assistant and the intro to Janis Joplin’s ‘Piece of my Heart’ starts up. Dean starts singing and Mike forgets to breathe. The hairs on his neck and arm stand up. He hasn’t been this breathlessly gobsmacked since he was 19 and Nick kidnapped him saying he had a surprise and had secured front row tickets to a Kelly Clarkson show. Mike had been equally blown away and equally hopelessly in love. But Kelly Clarkson was larger than life, a teenage celebrity crush that set Mike aflame through her voice and the TV screen. Dean is a living, breathing person he shares his life with and he’s causing the same helpless swooning.</p>
<p>Mike hardly notices when Nick grabs him by the arm and starts leading him towards the stage area. His gaze is firmly locked on Dean.</p>
<p>They’re halfway to the stage when Dean opens his eyes after singing from his toes. “<em>...Come on, come on, come on and break it, break another little piece of my―</em>” Then he sees them and his face drops, stuttering out the last piece of the line. He blushes a deep crimson and grins, giggling awkwardly, straightening up. “Oh fuck. I’m, I’m, I’m sorry, y’all, I’m gonna have to restart the song,” he says and gestures at his assistant. “I, I, sorry, I, um, so two members of the band The Archangels just walked in and I’m fanboying my ass off. Gimme a second.” His shoulders jump from silent laughter and he covers his mouth with a hand. The audience laughs or wolf-whistle, appearing to enjoy Dean’s embarrassed falter.</p>
<p>Nick pushes Mike to a small round table right in front of the stage with a sign that says reserved on it. He and Sam sit down. Mike sits down too but only when Nick tugs at his arm.</p>
<p>Dean removes his hand, smiling radiantly and flustered at Mike before looking at the rest of the audience. “Okay, have some patience with me. In front of me I now have the most talented musician I’ve met in real life. The man that made me discover my bisexuality. And I’m a teeny tiny bit nervous about singing in front of him, in case that’s not coming through,” he jokes, once again making people laugh.</p>
<p>Mike’s amazed how freely Dean shares how nervous he is, making a joke of it as if the blush and sudden coating of sweat wasn’t proof of how terrified he’s feeling. Mike would be off the stage trying not to hurl if it was him, but Dean just rolls with it.</p>
<p>Dean pulls his collar to fan himself. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?” he jokes, then after a slight pause for laughter he looks at the regulars, and asks, “I’m blushing, ain’t I?” and laughs when they yell ‘YES!’ “Perfect. This ain’t embarrassing at all.” He holds up a hand. “Okay. Alright. I promised you the song, and I’ll deliver. I can do this. <em>Phew</em>.” Never once does the smile leave his face. He gestures at his assistant to restart the song, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then launches into singing again without the slightest wobble or falter.</p>
<p>“I knew he could do it,” Nick says smugly and rests his arm on the backrest behind Sam.</p>
<p>Mike’s spellbound, full of butterflies, smiling so wide it hurts. Now Dean seeks eye-contact with him as often as he does with the rest of the audience and every time their eyes meet it causes a jolt in Mike’s body. He thought he couldn’t fall deeper in love with Dean but boy was he wrong.</p>
<p>When Dean finishes half the patrons give him standing ovations, cheering. Mike stands up clapping too, even if Nick leans back looking self-satisfied. “You’re amazing, Dean. Amazing. I got literal chills. Look,” Mike says loudly enough be heard over the cheers, holding out an arm and pointing at the goosebumps on his arm.</p>
<p>Dean beams at him, with the exhausted gleam in his eyes that you get when you’ve done something hard and draining but you’re very proud of yourself. He mouths ‘Thanks’ to Mike then raises the mic to his mouth. “Okay, so, I gotta know, next on my list it says I have a duet singing ‘A Whole New World’ from Aladdin with Michael. That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”</p>
<p>Mike’s about to answer that, no, he never put himself down to sing anything, but Nick beats him to it.</p>
<p>“Yup. That’s Mikey alright,” Nick says. Mike’s head snaps to look at his leery grin. “What? You didn’t think I’d let Dean be the only one pushing through his nerves, did you?”</p>
<p>Cold panic lace through Mike’s body. He wasn’t prepared. Getting on stage is a big deal and he doesn’t do karaoke unless it’s Japanese style where you have a private room and sing with your friends.</p>
<p>“Alright. Awesome. Then get that pretty ass up here. You wanna do the Aladdin or Jasmin parts?” Dean says. Sam gives Mike a little shove. Mechanically, Mike finds himself stepping up on the stage, then Dean grabs him and pulls him closer, smiling brightly at him. Dean holds up his mic to speak and lifts his other arm holding it horizontally palm down. “Look what you do to me, man. I’m still shaking.” He looks at the audience. “Can you see it? You see I’m shaking?”</p>
<p>Mike barely hears the audience holler. His heart hammers in his chest. He can see Dean’s hand trembling and Dean’s other hand still holding his arm is wet from sweat. He can’t back out. Not after seeing how incredibly nervous Dean actually was to sing to him. He swallows thickly and croaks out, “J-j-jasmin.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? The beautiful princess way above my street-cur station that I still get to romance? Awesome. That’s fitting,” Dean jokes.</p>
<p>That’s not it. Mike wants to explain that it’s because Aladdin sings first, giving Mike a chance to collect himself. But Dean hands him a mic and gestures for the assistant to start the music and it’s too late to explain himself.</p>
<p>Dean takes his hand and holds it up at chest height, turned towards him locking gazes, and starts to sing, “<em>I can show you a world…</em>”</p>
<p>Mike pours all his focus on Dean. He pretends Dean’s the only one there. Tries to. He has a small internal breakdown of ‘<em>Ican’tdothisIcan’tdothisIcan’tdothis</em>’ just before his first line comes, but then he lifts the mic, takes a breath and the lyrics pour out of him familiar and strong. And with them, come confidence.</p>
<p>This is one of the best feelings in the world. Being on stage, feeling his insecurities and fears melt away. It’s a drug that has him in its grip as strongly as heroin ever had Nick. The difference is that Mike fears the stage nerves more than he craves the high so he never seeks out to perform on his own. Now, it’s even better. He’s performing a love duet with the man he adores. It can’t get better than this. He puts his all into it, dividing his attention between Dean and the audience, channeling the young boy inside of him that once dreamed of performing musical theater on broadway.</p>
<p>By the time they finish singing and Dean gestures at him, saying, “Michael Novak of the Archangels, everybody!” it’s no longer a problem to raise his hand with a cocky smirk and wave to the applauding audience, nor to wink at the two girls at the table next to them when he goes to sit down again.</p>
<p>Mike grabs his drink and takes a few deep swallows before he directs himself to Nick. “You are simultaneously the best and the worst brother ever.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers and shrugs. “I didn’t manage to get you on stage with Kelly Clarkson so I figured this would have to do.”</p>
<p>“You tried to do that?” Mike asks skeptically.</p>
<p>“Of course I tried. You were mooning so badly over her I thought it would make your day. Regretfully, I failed. Which probably was a good thing considering that back then you might have died of stage fright at the mere suggestion of it.”</p>
<p>Mike laughs. “You’re probably right. Now, where’s the list? I want to sing more.”</p>
<p>Nick looks at Sam. “You want to sing too, sweetheart?”</p>
<p>Sam’s eyes widen in horror. “Whoops, look at the time. I gotta go,” he says and moves to get up.</p>
<p>Nick and Mike laugh and pull him down again. “Nobody’s making you sing, Sam. Don’t worry,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“Nick forced you and Dean,” Sam sensibly points out.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Nick admits easily. “But I had told Dean that I was going to force him to sing in front of Mike, and Mike loves the stage as much as I do. I’m not going to force you to sing unless you really want to but your brain gets in your way. That’s just cruel and humiliating. I’m being helpful. That’s the kind of man I am. Helpful and nice,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Sam’s calmed, Mike chuckles, calling Nick an ass, and Nick goes to fetch the list so they can sing a few more songs.</p>
<hr/>
<p>They stay until closing. Nick and Sam hop into a cab and Dean drives Mike home.</p>
<p>“I did good, right?” Dean asks, stopping by a red light.</p>
<p>“Are you still nervous about what I think?” Mike asks in surprise.</p>
<p>“Well, I mean. Yeah, I guess? Sorry, I just… Fuck, that was nervewracking.”</p>
<p>“I thought you were amazing. From the moment we entered and I heard your voice I was spellbound. I didn’t utter a single word for half an hour because I was staring at you. You’re a great singer and your stage presence is out of this world,” Mike gushes.</p>
<p>“Yeah? Thanks, babe. Nick said you’d been there a while before you came out of hiding,” Dean grins.</p>
<p>“I had fun tonight. Am I allowed to come see you work again? Or am I still banned?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>“Nah. I like having you there. It’s just the demons in my head, you know?” Dean says and lifts a hand from the steering wheel to gesture at his temple.</p>
<p>“Tell me about it. I wanted to throw up when I understood that Nick had put me down to sing. I have the worst stage fright. It’s almost at a level where I forget how much I love to perform.”</p>
<p>“Really? I couldn’t tell.”</p>
<p>“I admire how you ran with it and made fun of your own nerves when you stumbled. I could never do that.”</p>
<p>The light turns green and Dean drives. “It’s easier. You get people to relate to you. It’s endearing, you know? And they’ll laugh with you. It’s like, I make them part of my own experience so they’re laughing with me instead of at me. Then, whoever made me feel nervous or humiliated or whatever, is the bad guy if they do something to worsen things, you feel me?”</p>
<p>“I do. But I still wouldn’t know how to do that.”</p>
<p>“I do the same thing on YouTube. It’s easier then because I’m just talking to a camera, but I try to make people feel like I’m talking to them as if we’re friends. And, to be fair, a lot of them are old friends. But then when I get hate comments they dogpile on the haters so i don’t have to bother.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you bothered by the hate comments? Your subscriber count grows daily now and I’ve seen that you’ve gotten more hate than you did before.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but I’m also getting more simps, so,” Dean shrugs. “I guess, some of them get under my skin. Some of them are just funny.” He chuckles. “I put out a video on how to mend jeans a coupa weeks ago, right? And one of the comments made me all giggly. The dude wrote that real men don’t mend clothes. That’s a woman’s job and I was practically a woman for sewing.”</p>
<p>“I saw that comment. I don’t see what’s so funny about it?” It constantly infuriates Mike to see the harsh critique some level Dean’s way. The adoring comments are by far the most common. Dean has an actual fan base by now.</p>
<p>“Dude. Bro. My man,” Dean says and parks the car on the street outside of Mike’s apartment. “You’ll see. I’ve been working on a video response to that comment ever since I got it. You’ll love it. It’s a thirst trap of major proportions. I’m gonna let it be a surprise, but you’ll see. I’m basically murdering that dumb incel by showing him what a real man actually is.”</p>
<p>“Can’t you just tell me what it is?” Mike asks as they get out of the car.</p>
<p>“Nah. It’s funnier if it’s a surprise. But I’m telling you, if I don’t get at least ten marriage proposals in the comments I’ve failed,” Dean sniggers.</p>
<p>Curiosity bubbles under Mike’s skin. He heads for his door and is about to coax Dean into telling him what he’s planned but Dean suddenly grabs him, spins him around, pins him to the wall and kisses him until he’s dizzy with it and weak in the knees.</p>
<p>They kiss for several minutes before Dean pulls away. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”</p>
<p>Mike lets out a pathetic little noise that was <em>supposed to be</em> ‘me too’.</p>
<p>Dean places a chaste kiss on Mike’s lips and says, “If you kiss me while I’m at work I ain’t gonna be mad, okay? But I’m a performing monkey and there are a lot of thirsty ladies who come every night I work hoping for a chance to get with me. They drink a lot and make the house a lot of money, so I’d prefer if you didn’t, okay?”</p>
<p>Insecurity comes creeping unbidden. “Do they? Stand a chance?”</p>
<p>Dean chuckles. “Nah, man. I don’t shit where I eat. Fucking guests would be bad business. I’ll make an exception for you, though,” he jokes and waggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>Mike relaxes. He smiles. “I was thinking, maybe we could just go to sleep tonight…”</p>
<p>Dean’s face falls. The angst in his eyes is instant and apparent. “I swear it, Mike, when I flirt at work, I’m not serious. It means nothing. I’m like a car salesman, okay?”</p>
<p>Mike laughs, unprepared for the sudden switch. “I’m not jealous, Dean. I recognize a stage persona when I see one. It’s just that it’s nearly 3 AM and we’re both getting up early in the morning.”</p>
<p>Dean steps away from him and bends his neck, dragging a hand back and forth through his hair from his neck to the top of his head. “Yeah, alright.” He gives Mike a quick smile and nods at the door in a gesture for him to unlock it.</p>
<p>They walk up the stairs in silence. Mike kicks off his shoes and heads inside the apartment before Dean. He goes to the bedroom to shed his clothes except his underwear then goes to the bathroom. But Dean’s still in the hallway, which is odd. He goes to peek what Dean’s doing to find him lining up the shoes perfectly then stand up and correct the jackets so they hang straight. Mike realizes he’s seeing Dean do what Nick calls OCDing for the first time. Which means something is wrong. Mike backtracks. Everything was fine until he said they should skip out on sex. But they’ve come home late before and hadn’t had sex. Why would it be different now?</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe because I brought it up right after I asked if he sleeps with other women? Does he think I don’t believe him and that I’m withholding sex as a punishment?</em>
</p>
<p>The thought is so outlandish it can’t be true.</p>
<p>“I bought you a toothbrush,” he tells Dean.</p>
<p>Dean looks away from what he’s doing, lighting up. “You did?”</p>
<p>“Yes. It’s the purple one,” Mike answers with a smile.</p>
<p>“Awesome,” Dean says with a grin and abandons what he’s doing to follow Mike to the bathroom to brush their teeth. There’s some easy smalltalk while they get ready for bed and Mike thinks that maybe he’s just imagined things.</p>
<p>But then they crawl into bed, both in their underwear, and Dean gives him a chaste good night kiss before lying on his back, eyes catching the faint light from the living room as he stares at the ceiling. Mike’s very tired. The night out had given him a major endorphin injection but now he’s really feeling his exhaustion. He could easily and contently fall asleep right away here on Dean’s shoulder, one arm slung over Dean’s midriff. But Dean isn’t nearly as cuddly as he usually is and radiates ‘<em>awake!</em>’</p>
<p>What was it Nick had said? Dean is needy but respects a ‘no’?</p>
<p>Maybe the night right after Dean’s finally sung to him isn’t the best time to decide not to have sex. Mike puts himself in Dean’s place and realizes that if it were him, he’d be overthinking the reason for it, no matter how logical it is to go straight to sleep when they’re both tired and have to get up early.</p>
<p>He pushes himself up to kiss Dean and when Dean kisses back, heaves himself on top of him and grinds down.</p>
<p>“I thought you said no sex tonight?” Dean says.</p>
<p>“A little frot doesn’t really count as sex does it?” Mike jokes.</p>
<p>Dean laughs; a relieved sound, and wraps his arms around Mike, one hand sliding down to cup his ass. “Yeah, no, if that’s what you need to tell yourself for it to happen, I fully agree,” he says.</p>
<p>It only takes a few minutes of heated makeout and grinding before they’ve both reached completion, and after that Dean’s his usual cuddly self with none of that tenseness from before.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick picks Mike up with the van after work. “Wow. You look horrible,” he says when Mike closes the passenger door and buckles up.</p>
<p>Mike snorts and smirks. “Thanks. It’s all your fault,” he answers good-naturedly. “No hard feelings, though. It was worth sacrificing sleep over."</p>
<p>“I knew it would be,” Nick purrs. He gets serious. “Oh, and Sam’s at mine and he’s having a hands-off day. Just so you know.”</p>
<p>Mike’s eyebrows raise. They’ve been coming fairly often lately, but yesterday Sam and Nick had been very handsy with each other. He looks at Nick and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Good to know. So... how did your night go? Still blue-balled?”</p>
<p>Nick frowns. “Yes, I am.” He casts a quick look at Mike before looking back at the road. “Why are you asking?”</p>
<p>“Well, you and Sam left together. Just wondering if you stepped over the line.”</p>
<p>Nick snorts contemptuously, then smirks. “Mikey, people like me don’t step over the line. We push it forward instead,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Mike raises an eyebrow, giving Nick a dry look. “And how far did you push it with Sam yesterday?”</p>
<p>“Fuck sake, Mike. It wasn’t my fault, okay? I’m innocent but I’m not made of stone.”</p>
<p>“So you’re no longer blue-balled, after all,” Mike says. It’s far from ideal but at this stage, having seen Nick and Sam be stupidly in love for so long, cuddling at any opportunity, Mike’s getting used to the thought that it was just a matter of time before Nick lost self-control and took it to the next level.</p>
<p>Nick scowls fiercely and glares at the road, squeezing the steering wheel. “Yes, I am. Worse than before. I didn’t fuck him.”</p>
<p>“Sure. You were all but glued together yesterday, you leave together, and today he’s having a hands-off day. But you didn’t do anything.”</p>
<p>Nick throws him a brief look. “Fuck off,” he says and presses his lips into a tight line.</p>
<p>Mike regards him for a beat; the stubborn set of the jaw, the flared nostrils, the indrawn shoulders. He’s guilt-tripping and defensive. But usually he owes up to things he’s done. At least to Mike. “So what happened?”</p>
<p>“Do you care? Since you’re dead set that I’m to blame,” Nick snipes.</p>
<p>Mike sighs and looks at the car ceiling. “Yes, I care. And sorry if I wrongly accused you.” He rolls his head on the headrest to look at Nick, waiting.</p>
<p>Nick goes through a number of expressions. First, self-righteousness, then resentment, then grumpiness, then back to regret. “Of course, it was my fault. Sam’s a teenager and I’m nearly thirty. The responsibility is all mine.”</p>
<p>Mike frowns in concern now. “What happened?” he probes.</p>
<p>“Nothing. It was no big deal. I paid the cab to wait for me while I walked Sam to the dorm. When we were there Sam pushed me against the wall and kissed me. I know, I <em>know</em> I should’ve stopped him but I was drunk and I didn’t want to. We made out for a bit then I tore myself away to go back to the cab. It was <em>nothing</em>.” Nick glares at the road then annoyedly hits the car horn when someone tries to cut in between them and the next car.</p>
<p>“You told him no?”</p>
<p>“It’s all I ever do these days,” Nick mutters.</p>
<p>“That’s getting pretty serious of an issue. I’ve heard him say ‘I don’t go where I’m not wanted’ on a number of occasions. I never thought he―”</p>
<p>Nick interrupts him. “Yes, well, he is wanted, isn’t he? I’d like nothing but to bend him over and fuck his brains out, and the little shit knows it. And if he’d have followed me home yesterday that’s exactly what I would’ve ended up doing. I don’t have unlimited restraint.”</p>
<p>“I’ll have a talk to him the next time the opportunity for privacy comes up,” Mike promises.</p>
<p>“Thank you. It’s starting to get to me.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do it. And if it makes you feel better, I messed up with Dean yesterday. I don’t always understand him,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s coming through loud and clear, but, please, <em>do</em> tell,” Nick answers, perking up.</p>
<p>Mike tells him about Dean’s sudden mood switch, the OCDing, and the subsequent solution.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “So he rolled initiative by slamming you against the wall, and, funny that both the Winchesters chose that move by the way. And then you right away followed it up by asking if he fucks around, and you withheld affection. Right <em>after</em> he’d shown a side of himself he’d been scared shitless to show you. Mike, you’re a dumbass.”</p>
<p>“You really think he thought he was being punished?”</p>
<p>“No doubt in my mind. He was tense and OCDing his ass off when I tried to stop playing the wifey-game with him. I just had to lean away from our greeting kiss and he had Angst™ written all over him for two days,” Nick chuckles.</p>
<p>“You did? Why?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t want you to be jealous, asshat. As it is, I’m kissing your fucking boyfriend on the mouth twice daily. I’m surprised you’re not throwing a tantrum about it.”</p>
<p>“Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me at all,” Mike says. “It did in the beginning. But Dean was right. As soon as we stopped hiding I started feeling a lot more secure and problems went away. I like how good friends you are. And it’s hilarious anytime you manage to come up with endearments that make the other one cringe and grind their teeth. Plus, I don’t know. You’re both kind of proud and relaxed into your little game. So why not? You’ve both promised you wouldn’t do anything.” He shrugs. It was normal by now and Dean was physical to some extent with everyone, yet he always came back to Mike for <em>actual</em> intimacy. It was by far the better option. Mike’s had girlfriends trying to drive a wedge between Nick and him while those that got along with Nick were few and far between.</p>
<p>Nick hums in surprise. “Maybe I should’ve asked you what you thought before I put Dean through two days of full-blown panic trying to figure out what he did wrong?”</p>
<p>Mike laughs. “Yes, please. I don’t want him to suffer needlessly. Do you think he’ll sing with us today?”</p>
<p>As it turns out, yes. When they get to Nick’s there’s already a jam session well-underway. Sam and Annie sit watching while Steve plays drums, Gabe bass, and Dean’s playing electric guitar and singing one of Nick’s all-time favourites, ‘Walk This World’ by Heather Nova. He doesn’t stop singing when they enter. Nick goes straight for his guitar and lines up by the same mic as Dean to sing comp on the chorus. But Mike sits down to just watch for the first ten minutes. He’s swooning. This is all he ever wanted out of life. If Dean could just stop resisting and commit, it would be perfect…</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Michael and Dean are equally crazy about each other but they have very different needs and speak different love languages. It might seem like Dean's less interested, but he isn't. There is one major issue in the way and Dean doesn't understand that he's struggling with this issue. But once he comes to terms with it, we'll see them start finding their footing.</p>
<p>(In the meantime, someone that speaks the same love language is sliding into Dean's DMs, picking up the slack...)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. BROKEN BOUNDARIES</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam's been ignoring Nick's spoken 'no' for a time now, and when the levee breaks, it breaks bad.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>WARNINGS:</b><br/>This might possibly be the most trigger-heavy chapter to date. We have several people's messed up upbringings working in tandem to create a very volatile situation. It will, however, lead to personal growth and therapy breakthroughs in the future.<br/>-Violence<br/>-Consent issues<br/>-angst<br/>-vague descriptions of past child abuse/sexual child molestation/crap like that<br/>You may, and should, feel uncomfortable with a lot that happens in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Dean lies staring at the color-shifting ceiling with headphones in his ears. Sam’s using his computer to look at YouTube videos. Dean’s had the same song on repeat for days. Two weeks ago he’d searched out his friends’ Spotify accounts and went through their public playlists. Sam’s college friends all have pretty mainstream tastes even if they all diverged somewhat. Ennis has a playlist devoted to classical music, Annie has one with British punk, Steve has a lot of rap and acoustic, Angela is a classic rock fan. But the Archangels? Just the number of playlists they’ve curated makes you go, ‘Well fuck.’ There are some playlists they all have, named ‘Set 1’, ‘Set 2’, and so forth. While they all have a very diverse collection of music they did show strong bias. Gabe had a number of playlists that’s sheer drummer porn. Mike likes show tunes and feel-good music. Then there is Nick’s playlist named ‘Mood’.</p>
<p>New music Dean’s never heard interspersed with some of his own favorites, the Mood playlist sucked Dean right in. That’s where he found the song ‘Walk this World’ by Heather Nova and he can’t stop listening to it. It speaks to him.</p>
<p>“<em>...And it's burning in our fingers<br/>
And it's burning on the road<br/>
And I like the way you're broken<br/>
And I'll like you when you're old…</em>”</p>
<p>You never know what stupid shit will end up being a mistake.</p>
<p>“<em>...With the light in our eyes, it's hard to see<br/>
I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be<br/>
I want you to come, walk this world with me.</em>”</p>
<p>The song fills Dean with an aching longing. He’d roped Steve into playing it with him after one of the hand-to-hand combat lessons Dean’s been giving him, and then having practiced it for about a week until they both nailed it to a t, they decided they were ready to perform it in front of an audience.</p>
<p>That was all good and well until Nick and Mike walked in and Nick walked up to Dean and dived right in on the song. <em>That’s</em> when Dean realized his mistake. Singing from the same mic, feeling Nick’s breath on his face, briefly looking away from Mike to meet Nick’s gaze as they sang, “<em>I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be…</em>” while Nick’s expression embodied all the longing the song makes Dean feel.</p>
<p>Nothing odd about that. Nick’s a good performer who’s good at pouring pain, sex, and/or anger into it when he sings. But it’s giving Dean as much of a mindfuck as it did when Dean had just sung ‘Wherever I lay my hat (that’s my home)’ and Nick barged in to snatch the hat off Dean’s head, put it on himself and waltzed out again. It means fucking nothing. Yet, he’s so dumb-fuck stupid he’s reading into it.</p>
<p>
  <em>I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be…</em>
</p>
<p>That’s not where Dean’s mind needs to be right now. It needs to be on Mike. He’s more or less resigned himself to the fact that unless he breaks it off completely―and he doesn’t want that―he’ll be forced to admit defeat and accept that he’s in a committed relationship he doesn’t want to be in, but doesn’t want to leave.</p>
<p>Aside from Steve and Nick, everyone else seems to collectively have decided Mike and Dean are boyfriends, no matter what Dean has to say about it. Even when he had Angela Honey-I-don’t-kiss-and-tell’ sprawled naked under him, she’d said, ‘You won’t tell your boyfriend about this, right? I’d like to remain friends with him.’</p>
<p>Dean’s trying very hard to be what Mike wants. He <em>likes</em> Mike. Hell, by now he’s starting to get all the butterflies and dumb-fuck stupid longing that’s a prerequisite for going steady with no escape. But Mike’s making it so damn hard. Mike’s the one who goes back and forth between putting distance between them then swinging the opposite direction by adding pressure, or, or, like last time Mike stayed over and started asking positively terrifying questions like, ‘Have you thought about having kids?’</p>
<p>Dean had the impulse to dodge out of bed with an, ‘Oh <em>hell</em> no!’ and flee to bumfuck Alaska on the spot. Yes. At some point in a waaaay distant future, when Sam’s ditched Dean’s sorry ass for bigger, better things and people, he might want to have kids. But that’s a discussion that should’ve waited a couple of years. He wanted to yell at Mike that he’s not even 22 yet, just on the brink of starting what seems like it could be an actual career now that he has enough subscribers to his channel to get monetized. They’re not even living together and Mike’s showing no inclination of wanting that so what’s even the point?</p>
<p>He loves Mike. At this point, he’d be able to say it. But he loves him as in, ‘I’ll be there for you if you need me’, and ‘I want to spend my free time with you if it’s possible’, not as in, ‘I want to get married and have kids with you.’ And if he’d tell Mike he loves him, it’s the latter interpretation Mike no doubt would make. But Mike’s the one who has days he wants to be left alone. And Mike’s the one who <em>can</em> keep his hands off Dean when they’re together.</p>
<p>He thinks the age gap is the problem. Mike’s already done all his crap and is ready to settle down for life. Dean has a fucking bucket list of things that require being single to do, but none of the time to do them. That’s why you shouldn’t be with someone that much older. Priorities don’t align.</p>
<p>
  <em>I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be…</em>
</p>
<p>Except… Mike’s not the only one who’s been getting Dean’s heart racing lately. He throws a look at Sam’s back. His shoulders are jumping from laughter Dean can’t hear. Dean squeezes his eyes shut to block out the sight of his brother, gut twisting full of guilty, anxious worms.</p>
<p>“<em>I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be<br/>
I want you to come, walk this world with me...</em></p>
<p>The music suddenly cuts off and his phone starts ringing, chasing away forbidden images of someone older who doesn’t seem to have any problem aligning priorities with his. He lifts his phone to see who it is, instantly both happy and anxious. He takes the call. “Bobby! Hey, man, good to hear from ya!”</p>
<p>Sam spins around to look at him with eyebrows raised, mouthing ‘Bobby Singer?’ and Dean winks in confirmation.</p>
<p>“Hey, Son. You’ve been makin’ some dumb decisions lately,” Bobby says.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “Calling just to gimme a scoldin’, huh? Yeah, tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Bobby chuckles. “You ain’t even gonna ask what ya did?”</p>
<p>Dean misses Bobby like an aching hole in his chest. With Thanksgiving looming closer and closer, that ache’s been growing. “Nah,” he sniggers. “I’ve got a whole list. If ya got a coupla hours, we can run down it point by point.” He makes note of how his own dialect shifted to sound more like Bobby’s without even thinking about it. It’s good. It doesn’t give away the more Californian speech pattern he has these days.</p>
<p>“Ain’t carin’ bout any of that, Son. I’d like to know what possessed ya to put Sam in yer videos.”</p>
<p>Dean sits bolt upright. “You’ve seen my YouTube channel?”</p>
<p>“Sure have. The neighbor’s boy told me you’d sent him a link. It’s a damn fine channel if ya ask me, but ya shouldn’t have put Sam in it.”</p>
<p>Dean swallows dryly and stares at Sam who’s mouthing ‘What??’ with a worried frown. “Does Dad know?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“Doubt it. Yer old man still has his flip phone and I ain’t never seen him use that antique laptop of his for anything but looking at maps. But y’all be putting yer faces out there and it might reach him. He’ll know y’all been lyin’ to him,” Bobby says.</p>
<p>“Yuh-you won’t tell him, will ya?” Dean asks nervously.</p>
<p>“Of course not, Son,” Bobby grumps. “Yer old man ain’t the man I befriended in the Marines anymore. He’s burned away his brain with alcohol. But I ain’t want to see y’all get in trouble. Sam shouldn’t have been in that video.”</p>
<p>“But he <em>wanted</em> to. He asked for it. Hell, he nagged until I agreed. And if Dad comes here and tries to take him out of college, I’ll fight him. I’ll fucking hunt him down and drag Sam back to school,” Dean says heatedly. “You know what he did, Bobby? When Sam showed him his first acceptance letter he tore it up and beat the shit outta Sam. <em>He laid hands on Sam</em>. And for what? What’s the point of letting us go to school at all if we’re not allowed to make something of ourselves? And I’ve tried to keep landmarks or hints of our location out of frame. But what was I supposed to do? You tell a kid no and they’ll just do it behind your back instead. I bet that if Sam made his own channel he’d be filming his videos in front of the college logo or some shit like that.”</p>
<p>Sam scoffs indignantly. “I wouldn’t,” he protests.</p>
<p>He totally would.</p>
<p>Bobby’s quiet for a beat, then he chuckles. “You would know. Ya never did listen good at a no. All I’m sayin’, be careful, or be aware it might get back to yer old man. Ain’t want nothin’ bad to happen to you boys.”</p>
<p>“I know. I know,” Dean answers, dragging a hand over his face.</p>
<p>“Is Sam the reason ya haven’t called for so long?” Bobby asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah…” Dean admits. “I ain’t liking havin’ to lie to ya.”</p>
<p>“Can I talk to him?” Sam asks and makes a grabby-hand gesture.</p>
<p>“Bobby, Sam wants to talk to ya. Don’t hang up when he’s done. I have somethin’ to ask from ya, okay?”</p>
<p>Bobby confirms and Dean unplugs his headphones and hands the phone over to Sam. Sam instantly launches into a happy, “Bobby! I’ve missed you! How are you doing?”</p>
<p>Dean gets up and leaves the room but keeps the door open so he can give Sam privacy and still listen in. He sits on the stairs and rubs a hand back and forth over his hair self-soothingly. He knew it could become a problem the moment he let Sam make an appearance in a video. It was a silly gym video because someone left a comment asking for Dean’s workout routine. Steve was all over Dean about making the video and, of course, Sam was fired up and wanted to be in it. He refused to listen to reason, saying he doesn’t care if Dad finds out where they are because he won’t go anywhere no matter what Dad says. But Sam was always a good kid, not a good-for-nothing troublemaker like Dean. He hadn’t deserved to be disciplined as Dean had. He had no reason to know he should be terrified of Dad finding out that they’re both in open rebellion now.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe I should just delete my channel and go back to Dad? Pretend that I’ve lost track of Sam. I could keep Dad distracted and in the dark. Sam would be safe.</em>
</p>
<p>Just thinking the thought of deleting his channel makes him curl into a ball and press his forehead to his knees, throat constricting and eyes stinging. He struggles to breathe. He doesn’t want to cry. If it’s what has to be done then that’s what has to be done and it’s a stupid dream anyway who the hell wants to be a YouTuber and he’s fucking stupid to think he could have anything that’s his own and―</p>
<p>Suddenly someone sits down beside him and he’s tugged towards a broad chest by strong arms. Nick mumbles into his neck, “<em>Sssh.</em> It’s okay. We’ll solve it. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it. I’ve got your back. Relax, Darling.”</p>
<p>“I’ve fucked up,” Dean states, accepting the embrace by clinging to Nick, hiding his head by Nick’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Yes, we do that at astounding regularity,” Nick agrees. “That’s our trademark. Why don’t you tell me what the problem is so we can unfuck it?”</p>
<p>Dean hiccups a little laugh that’s more of a sob. He takes a few deep breaths. “Our Uncle Bobby called. Sam’s talking to him now. You know that video I let Sam be in? If Dad finds out… Fuck, I should never have allowed it.”</p>
<p>“Sam undoubtedly would’ve worked his way around your ‘no’. He’d be photobombing every time you shot, rendering all your footage useless. And the rest of the time he’d be giving you the puppy-eyed look, guilt-tripping you into giving in,” Nick points out.</p>
<p>Dean hiccups another mournful laughter. “I’m gonna have to delete my channel. I’ll have to go back to Dad and pretend I lost track of Sam, and―”</p>
<p>“Out of the question,” Nick interrupts. “You’re a legal adult and that channel is your baby. Sam made the decision not to stay hidden.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but―”</p>
<p>“Nu-uh.” Nick pushes him away enough to grab Dean by the cheeks and pull his head in inches from Nick’s, burrowing his gaze into Dean’s. “Listen to me. Sam’s mine. You’re my perfect little darling wife. Steve is our adopted little Babygay. I’m not letting your dad steal away or hurt my family. We can’t undo your past, but we can fight for your future,” he says, voice steady and calm.</p>
<p>Dean’s heart jackhammers. He’s drowning in Nick’s blue gaze and the promise he holds up like a shiny bauble. Until now everything Nick’s ever said has come to pass. Dean opens up to it like a flower to the sun, desperate for someone to be there for him.</p>
<p>
  <em>I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be…</em>
</p>
<p>“If your dad should come here,” Nick goes on, “we won’t let him take Sam. If he tries, it would be kidnapping. Should he reveal Sam’s real age, he’d be incriminating himself since there’s proof that Sam’s age changed long before he applied to college. We’d start a legal battle and we have tons of proof of his misdeeds. Everything from credit card fraud, photos of your bruised visage, the frequent moves, every CPS worker that’s ever sniffed around you. He can’t take Sam from us legally. And, if the worst-case scenario should come to pass, I will sign over the house to you, Sam, and Steve. Then I’ll buy a gun and take the jail time that will be the consequences of what I use that gun for. But you’ll be safe. I promise.”</p>
<p>Dean swallows dryly. And again. Once again he’s close to tears but not for the same desperate reason. “Why…?” he asks hoarsely. It’s not what he means. He means, ‘I’m not worth it.’</p>
<p>Nick lets go of his cheeks with a chuckle and puts an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Oh, that’s easy. It wasn’t my fault,” he says jokingly and jostles Dean playfully. “I came out of my bedroom to see you sitting here like that and naturally I ask myself what I’d done this time.” He smirks and winks at Dean, who chuckles, relating too hard to that feeling. “I love you, and you deserve someone in your corner. It’s that simple. Me and my siblings all love you and we’re ready to fight for you. We’ve been digging around a bit, trying to figure out what we could nail John for if he ever became a problem for Sam and you.”</p>
<p>Anxiety gnaws. “You’re not gonna turn him in unless he does anything, right? Don’t get me wrong, if he’s a threat to Sam and I have to choose, I choose Sam. But Dad’s still my dad and I love him. I don’t want him going to jail.”</p>
<p>Nick regards him silently with a little smile and a look Dean can’t decipher. Then he purses his lips and looks down at the stairwell. “No. Going to court trying to get someone convicted for some of the crimes your dad has committed, is a lengthy, word against word, process. It’s humiliating, you’ll get disbelieved and painted as a liar by the defense, and it stirs up so many painful memories. As long as he doesn’t pose an immediate threat, the choice to turn him in will be left to you. And if you do, we’ll be there for you.”</p>
<p>Dean’s quiet, leaning against Nick, looking down the stairs. From his room he can hear Sam laugh and talk about his height, something that no doubt must’ve surprised Bobby when he saw Sam in the video.</p>
<p>“Did I tell you,” Nick says, “I had a pair of jeans I love that had ripped just by the ass. But then I found this nifty little video showing how to mend them. It had the most charming instructor who even showed how to prick your finger on the needle while working. Turns out, I’m a natural at that particular part.” He smirks at Dean.</p>
<p>Dean giggles. “Man, you coulda just handed them to me and I woulda fixed them for ya.”</p>
<p>“What? And let you steal my pride in accomplishment?” Nick stands up and turns his back towards Dean, looking over his shoulder. “What do you think?” he asks and touches himself just under the left butt cheek.</p>
<p>There. The stitches aren’t quite as neat as his own would’ve been, but… Dean reaches out and runs his fingers over them unthinkingly. “Wouldn’t have noticed unless you pointed it out.”</p>
<p>“Uhuh,” Nick says smugly. “Don’t delete your channel, darling,” he adds with a smirk, gives Dean a wink and goes back to his room, closing the door.</p>
<p>Dean’s left with a mix of emotions raging out of control. Stupid, stupid, stupid fucking forbidden butterflies, elation, and anxiety in a mad jumble. And relief that’s almost overwhelming. He’s not gonna delete his channel. There are alternatives. He’s not alone. Sam gets to decide if he wants to stay hidden and they’ll deal with the fallout if it comes.</p>
<p>Sam comes out of the bedroom maybe ten minutes later and Dean’s still left staring at Nick’s closed door, trying to untangle his mess of emotions. Sam’s beaming as he hands over the phone. Dean gratefully takes it and leaves Sam upstairs to go outside to talk so he can’t be overheard. “Heya, Bobby, I’ve been looking for a Harley Davidson. I was thinking perhaps a 1950s Easy Rider Billy bike? I’m gonna restore it as a gift for someone and I was wondering if you could help me get my hands on it or something like it?”</p><hr/>
<p>“It’s so frustrating,” Sam complains. “He only lets me sleep with him when I’m having my bad days. Now that we could actually cuddle I’m banned from his bedroom.”</p>
<p>“Bro. That’s your own damn fault. Ever since you made out you’ve been pushing for more despite him saying no. Quit fucking ignoring what he says and he’ll be cuddling your ass off in no time,” Steve says. He’s lying on his side supporting his head on his palm, elbow on his pillow, looking at Sam.</p>
<p>Sam’s on his back beside him. He turns his head towards Steve with a frown. “He wants it as badly as I do.”</p>
<p>Steve scrunches up his face in a grimace. “Fuck you, asshat. It’s like talking to a fucking wall. You know what? Where’s that notebook you’re always toting around?”</p>
<p>“My therapy book? It’s in my pocket,” Sam says and gestures at the floor beside the bed.</p>
<p>“Give it to me.”</p>
<p>Sam hesitates with a concerned frown.</p>
<p>Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a bitch. I ain’t gonna read your diary. Just give it to me.”</p>
<p>Sam rolls to the edge of the bed and pulls out the notebook with a little pen attached from his pocket. There isn’t anything in it he isn’t willing to let Steve know. Not now. He feels certain there’s nothing in it that Steve would break their friendship over. But some of the stuff he’d rather choose the time and place to talk about. Still, he hands the notebook over. “What are you gonna do?”</p>
<p>Steve flips the book open and holds it up so Sam can see two empty pages. “I’m gonna give you homework. Because I’ve been trying to get something through your thick skull for two weeks now and I ain’t getting through. So I’m gonna write something down here. And you’re gonna keep taking your notes without looking at it until you get to this page. Then you’ll read it out to your therapist and tell her you need to talk about it or your best bro is gonna start throwing punches, a’ight?”</p>
<p>“Um, okay? Yeah. Sure,” Sam agrees curiously.</p>
<p>Steve rolls over onto his belly and writes both the small pages full, then hands it to Sam. “Put it back in your pocket without looking,” he instructs. Sam does as instructed then looks at him questioningly. Steve rolls back onto his side with his cheek in his palm again. “What if Nick’s saying no because he’s fucking someone else already?” he asks.</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “He isn’t. When would he have time to do that? He never goes out these days.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, Sam, maybe when you’re off fucking Claire,” Steve answers dryly.</p>
<p>“It’s only been twice,” Sam points out.</p>
<p>“Yeah, but you ain’t telling Nick about it, so nothing’s stopping him from rolling in the hay with someone else and clamming up about it.”</p>
<p>“Is he?” Sam asks, suddenly a bit uncertain.</p>
<p>“Not as far as I’ve seen. It’s a rhetorical question. What would you do if you came here one day and found Nick with someone else? Just for the sake of things, let’s take someone you know. How about Dean? If you walked in here catching those two in the sack, what would you do?”</p>
<p>Sam chuckles. “Dean would never do that to me.”</p>
<p>Steve rolls his eyes for the millionth time today. “<em>Rhetorical</em> question. You wouldn’t kill yourself, or some dumb shit like that?”</p>
<p>“No, I wouldn’t. But I would be sad. What’s up with you? You’ve been a pissbaby all day.”</p>
<p>Steve tips over to faceplant beside his pillow, his shoulder landing against Sam’s. “It’s Nick,” he says muffled by the pillow.</p>
<p>Sam frowns. “You’re… you’re not fucking him are you?”</p>
<p>Steve bends his head up, scrunching up his face. “Hell no, bro, <em>I</em> follow the bro code,” he says with such vehement annoyance it makes Sam snigger. “That’s not it. Yesterday Nick took me aside for a <em>talk</em>. It was embarrassing as hell. Apparently, I’ve got daddy issues and need to stop seeing Ryan or things will go to shit.”</p>
<p>“But you really like Ryan,” Sam says with a tendril of sadness unfurling inside.</p>
<p>Steve flips over onto his back. “Yeah, I do. But Nick’s fucking sharp, and you know I’ve been studying Dad to see how not to be. And Ryan, he ain’t like Dad, okay? He ain’t malicious or selfish. But his self-righteousness often causes the same feelings in me as Dad did. Like I’m fucking dumb and worthless. And Nick pointed out how toxic the relationship was likely to get if I went there.”</p>
<p>“Nick doesn’t know Ryan as well as you do,” Sam defends. He likes the way Steve gets giggly and looks happy when Ryan comes over. He doesn’t want Nick to spoil that.</p>
<p>“Nah, bro, he’s right. I can see it, but I fucking hate him for pointing it out. I don’t <em>want</em> to end it. But I don’t think Ryan will change and it’s just a silly crush anyway. So I’m pissy. Sorry you have to put up with me like this.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay. What about the José guy? You hooked up a couple of times and then you never mentioned him again.”</p>
<p>Steve grunts. “I found out he’s married and in the closet. I can put up with him being in the closet, I think, but hell if I’m gonna be someone you cheat with. I ain’t ever wanna be on any side of infidelity if I can help it. But it ain’t exactly as if I’m surrounded by eligible bachelors. And it would be nice to date others if I’m gonna cut Ryan off. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t actively looking for a boyfriend. I’ve just found that I kinda liked going on dates, flirting, and getting to know someone romantically.”</p>
<p>“Then I guess Grindr is out of the question, huh?” Sam smiles encouragingly. “Maybe you should ask Nick where to find gay guys to date? He’s the one who messed things up for you, he can fix it. It’s his responsibility,” he jokes.</p>
<p>“Actually, I might do that,” Steve sniggers. He’s silent for a beat, looking at the ceiling, then his lips start to twitch in amusement. “Can I tell you something? Something funny, but embarrassing like hell. Like, I don’t mind if you laugh at me when I tell you, but I don’t want you to tell Ennis or any of the other guys or they’ll tease the shit out of me and it’s something I’m ashamed of so I don’t want that, okay?”</p>
<p>“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Sam says, smiling in anticipation.</p>
<p>“Okay. A’ight.” Steve sniggers to himself and takes a quick breath. “You remember how pissy I was at Nick for telling the guys at work I’m called Babygay?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I hate it. But I also don’t, because in a way it’s like a medal of honor, but, like, it’s got ugly colors, if you know what I mean? And it was so stupid. The first week some of the guys made a joke out of it, and others just called me Baby. A few who wanted to be respectful asked if I preferred Baby or Babygay,” Steve sniggers, and Sam laughs. “Right? I’m like, Steve would be good, thank you? But I didn’t actually say that because if they figured out it wasn’t a nickname as much as a tease then I’d never hear the end of it.”</p>
<p>“Probably. Especially if there are anyone like Nick and Dean there,” Sam agrees, chuckling.</p>
<p>“Exactly. But, by the second week, everyone was calling me Baby like it was any other nickname. So I’m surrounded by all these big, burly construction workers, and they’re all calling me baby, and I―” Steve’s giggling now, with a big grin on his face. “―I discovered that I like it. I fucking dig the hell out of it. Like there’s this one guy. He’s taller than you, big as a fucking ox, dark as night, and he’s got the deepest bass voice I’ve ever heard. And when he goes,” Steve lowers his voice to mimic his colleague, “‘<em>Hey, Baby, hand me that wrench, will you?</em>’ I get fucking weak-kneed. Like, ‘Yes, Siree. Anything else I can do for you? Anything at all? <em>Please</em>?’” Steve puts a hand over his eyes and laughs silently, cheeks turning pink.</p>
<p>Sam laughs along. He can picture Steve standing there, trying to uphold his punk dudebro attitude while being all flustered maid on the inside.</p>
<p>“It’s so fucking dumb, you know? ‘Baby’ is one of the dumbest endearments I know. You know like when you’re at a bar and some douchewad slide up to one of the girls and go, ‘Hey, baby, can I buy you a drink?’ It sounds fucking ridiculous. But the guys ain’t saying it as an endearment. They’ve got their tones pitched as if they’re saying a name and that makes a difference. I feel like a moron for loving it but it’s one of the things I look forward to, going to work,” Steve confesses, still giggling.</p>
<p>Sam sniggers. “I understand what you mean. It’s sort of like my brother when he calls people ‘babe’ or Nick when he says ‘darling’. It sounds natural coming from them except for when Nick adds that twang when he’s mocking someone. But if I’d try calling someone babe I’d sound like an ass.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Exactly like that.”</p>
<p>“You want me to confess something I’m super embarrassed of too?”</p>
<p>“<em>Please</em>. I’m fucking dying over here,” Steve says, lowering his hand to look at Sam with the same anticipation Sam had felt about Steve’s confession.</p>
<p>“Okay. But the same rules apply. Don’t tell anyone. It’s not a secret-secret, but I’m ashamed of it and don’t want to get teased for it.”</p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>“Alright. When I was at the BDSM party, there was one Dom that was into pet play. He wanted me to crawl on all fours and pretend I was a dog. Put a leash on me and led me around, making me do dog tricks and stuff. And when they ate dinner I sat on the floor and whined, begging for scraps, getting hand fed. And, and,” Sam can feel himself blushing, “God, this is so embarrassing to admit, but I liked it? Like, I had fun. Not like in a sexual way, but, like, it was fun playing, right? Dean and I used to play games like that when I was little, and nobody at the party saw it as weird or silly, so it felt kinda freeing, I guess?”</p>
<p>Steve’s sniggering with the most skeptical scrunch to his nose. He’s been sniggering since Sam said the word BDSM party. “You know, if I’d heard this before we became friends I’d laughed my ass off and just thought you were some weird ass freak, without really thinking about what you were saying. But I kinda get it, bro. Not the kink thing. But playing silly kids’ games like you don’t give a fuck, not thinking about your pride or reputation and shit like that? Yeah, I get it.” Steve sniggers again. He wags a finger at Sam. “But to be clear, I ain’t ever playing dog with you. There’s no way I can pet you on the head and unironically call you a good dog. And if you tried to do that to me, I might take your teeth out.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs. “No. That’s not why I told you. I don’t think I could play like that with you either. It would feel weird.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, no shit. Maybe that’s why people get kids? So they get to play sometimes without getting seen as weirdos.”</p>
<p>“Let’s hope that’s not the only reason. Do you want kids?”</p>
<p>Steve snorts in amusement. “I don’t know, bro. Ask me again when I’m in my thirties. How about you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. Do you think Nick wants kids?”</p>
<p>Steve bites his lip and narrows his eyes thoughtfully for a moment. Then he holds up a finger. “I don’t know, let’s check,” he says and rolls out of bed. He goes to the door, opens it, and yells, “Hey, Nick!” He waits for a beat, then yells, “<em>Nicky!</em>”</p>
<p>Nick doesn’t answer. “Maybe he’s asleep?” Sam suggests.</p>
<p>“The hell he is. Watch this,” Steve says, then yells, “Oh, Daddy-<em>ooo</em>!”</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck sake!</em>” Nick’s voice is muffled by the door and followed by a crash, stomping, and Nick’s door opening. “<b>WHAT?!</b>” Nick yells.</p>
<p>“Do you want kids?” Steve asks loudly.</p>
<p>“Why? You need a new sibling? I’m sure we can go out and find another abandoned queer kid of working age to drag home. But not tonight,” Nick answers.</p>
<p>“No, you fucking asswipe. Babies. Do you want kids?”</p>
<p>“Not on fucking <em>purpose</em>, I don’t,” Nick responds annoyedly.</p>
<p>“A’ight. Bye,” Steve answers and closes the door. Sam can hear Nick cursing until the door clicks shut. He covers his mouth with a hand to silence his laughter.</p>
<p>Steve comes back to bed with a smug smirk. “There you have it. No, he doesn’t. But he ain’t shirking the responsibility if he accidentally knocks you up,” he jokes as he crawls back under the blanket.</p>
<p>Sam cackles. “That’s not a major concern of mine, but thanks,” he says with a grin. Then, “Daddy-o?”</p>
<p>Steve sniggers. “He fucking hates to be called daddy. I was getting real tired of their shit one day when he and Dean were being totally distracted by each other doing the whole married-routine. So, as a joke, I called Nick daddy. It’s his own damn fault for referring to me as his baby, right?”</p>
<p>Sam nods with a wide smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah, so, the effect was instant and indignant. And he was like, ‘If I’m daddy then Dean has to be mommy!’ But that shit didn’t work on Dean. He was like, ‘Fuck yeah, I’m mom. Come here give your mommy a kiss. Did you wash your hands? Don’t forget to put your scarf on if you go outside.’”</p>
<p>Sam laughs. “Oh, that makes me nostalgic. He used to do that when I was a kid. Make sure I brushed my teeth, pull my beanie down over my ears so I wouldn’t get cold, and give me a kiss on the forehead before sending me off to class,” he says wistfully, longing back to those simpler days.</p>
<p>“Bro, that’s fucked up. Aside from the fact that’s basically still what he’s doing, he isn’t joking when he says he raised you, is he?”</p>
<p>“No, I guess not. Dad was away working a lot. Why’s that fucked up?”</p>
<p>“Cuz he too was a kid, numbnut, and someone should’ve been doing that shit for both of y’all.”</p>
<p>“I guess. I’ve never thought about it. I guess that makes it extra nice that Mike and Nick are taking care of him now,” Sam says.</p>
<p>Steve has a very complicated expression Sam can’t interpret, then it shifts to annoyed resignation. “Yeah. It’s nice. Whatever. You ready to sleep?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Can I be the big spoon?” Sam answers. He knows the answer already. Steve likes to be the little spoon as much as Sam prefers to be the big one.</p><hr/>
<p>Sam runs his fingers over the words in Steve’s orderly block-letter handwriting.</p>
<p>“<tt>THE GUY I’M IN LOVE WITH SAYS HE DOESN’T WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH ME OR FRENCH KISS ME. I KNOW IT’S A LIE BECAUSE HE GETS ERECTIONS AND HAS SAID THAT HE’S IN LOVE WITH ME. I ALWAYS SAY I DON’T GO WHERE I’M NOT WANTED, BUT BECAUSE I KNOW HE WANTS ME I IGNORE IT WHEN HE SAYS NO AND PUSH FOR MORE. NOW MY BEST BRO SAYS HE’LL KICK MY ASS IF I DON’T STOP. WHY IS THAT?</tt>”</p>
<p>Two pages of writing in his therapy book he wishes he’d discussed with Mrs. Rourke before <em>it</em> happened. He feels like the worst person in the world and has been tossing and turning all night despite sleeping in the same bed as Nick.</p>
<p>Layla Rourke comes out of her office and smiles at him. "You can come in now, Sam."</p>
<p>Sam stands up from the couch in the waiting room and pockets his notebook. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."</p>
<p>"I'm glad I had a cancellation so I could fit you in. You sounded very distressed when you called this morning. Did something, in particular, happen that you want to talk about?" Mrs. Rourke asks as he follows her into her office.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I’m an awful person. I did something terrible. It’s eating at me and I don’t know what to do.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke gestures at the comfortable, plushy loveseat and sits down on the armchair opposite of it. “Take a seat and tell me about it, and we’ll see what we can do to put you at ease.”</p>
<p>Sam sits down, drags a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so, um. I guess it started a while back. You remember the guy I’ve told you about? Nick, who I’m in love with?” Sam waits for Mrs. Rourke to nod encouragingly before he goes on. For the millionth time today he feels like crying. “So get this, he took me on a date yesterday…”</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>Yesterday…</em>
</p>
<p>Nick’s breathtakingly stunning in his suit. Sam can’t keep from staring. Dean has really good taste in restaurants. Nick’s taken Sam to The Bacchus Foyer and it’s every bit as romantic as he’d thought it would be. The food is amazing and the candle light gives everything a warm ambience while it catches and glitters in Nick’s eyes. Nick’s gently playing with the fingers on Sam’s right hand as they talk, caressing them softly one by one.</p>
<p>“So, what do you dream about?” Sam asks. “We’ve talked a lot about my writing and what I want to do with my future, but I’ve realized I’ve never really heard you talk about your dreams.”</p>
<p>Nick chuckles. “That’s because I don’t really have any. Only superficial stuff like buying a Harley Davidson, or building an extension to the house. For me, it’s always been about what I want to <em>avoid</em> in my future.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, don’t get booked for assault charges, don’t act in an emotionally abusive way towards people I love, don’t fall back into drug addiction, don’t fall prey to destructive impulses, the list goes on and on.” Nick’s soft smile doesn’t match what he’s saying.</p>
<p>“You’re not that bad,” Sam reassures.</p>
<p>Nick chuckles and takes a sip of his red wine. "But I am. For many people, if not most, being a good person comes naturally. Me? Every day I make repeated, conscious choices to do the right thing. It's easier now than it was when I was younger. But it does take effort. I’ve been conditioned to be entitled, angry, and spiteful. Even by the well-meaning adults around me, growing up.” He puts his glass on the table and runs a finger around the brim. “I don’t talk about my past much. Even my siblings don’t know half of it. For instance, I’ve told them that I saw another foster kid get raped repeatedly at my second placement, until one day I couldn’t take it anymore and attacked my foster dad to defend her.”</p>
<p>“When you were still a little kid? That’s so brave,” Sam says.</p>
<p>Nick chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s what I say happened, Sammy, and it isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the truth either. I want to look good in the eyes of people I want to love me, so I leave out a big chunk of details.” A waiter comes by the table to take their plates and Nick pauses to order two Irish coffees and ask if Sam wants dessert, which he declines. When the waiter has left, he says, “My uncle did more than just molest me. He changed the way I see the world, and he made me a sexual being before I was ready to be one. My parents were alcoholics who had people over almost daily. When it came to physical abuse, they did hit me, but not hard enough for it to be a concern for the CPS. The actions of the adults around me, reinforced a very skewed world view. I <em>have</em> a moral compass and compassion in me or I wouldn’t have attacked Roy, as my foster dad’s name was, but it wasn’t the obvious right thing to do for me.”</p>
<p>The waiter comes by to deliver their order and Nick thanks him and waits for him to go before he continues. “Gabe and I had to deal with visitation rights, which was its own kind of bullshit,” he says when they’re alone again. “For both of us, it only furthered our trauma. For me, it was devastating. See, I wasn’t believed when I pointed a finger at my uncle. The blame landed on my parents’ drinking problem and the strangers that came and went through our home. And once my parents supposedly had shaped up, I was forced to go home again. This is something only Dad knows since he’s read my files. I haven’t told my siblings about it. It didn’t last long, but because of it, I had one of my worst experiences in my life when my parents forced me to apologize to my uncle for telling those horrible lies about him. I’m not going to delve into that. But it affected me a lot, and then I was placed with Roy and Monica. It was the first time in my life I was in the care of good, loving parents. Who treated me well, never hurt me, gave me all the time, patience, attention, and understanding I needed.”</p>
<p>Sam frowns with concern. “But… if he raped another foster kid… how could he be a good parent?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Nick snaps his fingers and points at Sam with a smile. “See how that can fuck a kid up? Roy and Monica were great to me, and I adored them. I was seven when I was placed in their care. I shared a room with Maria, a thirteen year old girl. I wasn’t supposed to, because girls and boys aren’t supposed to share a room in foster care, but the room that was meant for me had a water leak and her room was big enough to resolve privacy issues. Mostly. She had a bed canopy that Roy didn’t close properly when he came into our room to use her. I pretended to be asleep, then lay there watching them, my tiny little weiner poking hard into the mattress.”</p>
<p>Nick lets go of Sam’s hand to stir the cream in his Irish coffee. “She just lay there and let him do whatever. Just like my uncle had told me sex was supposed to be like. Just like I’d seen my father do to other women after mom fell asleep. Granted, the women my dad cheated with were just drunk, and I’m sure they were willing, but they were rather passive. Maria was different from them because she cried after Roy left her. She’d cry almost all night through. It was very confusing to me. I didn’t particularly like Maria, and since she was so much older than me it took me a while to realize that she was helpless to stop it. She had curves and boobs. In my eyes, she was as good as an adult already. It took almost a year before compassion for her suffering won out over my love for my father figure. Watching him use her made me pop a boner every time, and then feel guilty for it afterward.”</p>
<p>Nick takes a sip of the spiked coffee drink and Sam reaches out to do the same. Sam doesn’t know how to answer, so he keeps silent.</p>
<p>“I haven’t told my siblings that. They still know me, since they’ve seen me struggle with the demon on my shoulder and stood by me when it won out,” Nick says and takes Sam’s hand again. “It’s because of them I try to be better, and <em>do</em> better. But you know when you switch on the TV and come straight onto a movie scene where someone gets beaten, raped, or yelled at? That first second before I’ve gotten a grasp on the scene I always identify with the perpetrator. <em>Then</em> my compassion kicks in.”</p>
<p>“But you wouldn’t hurt me,” Sam says with full conviction.</p>
<p>“I definitely would. I nearly attacked you once already. And I’ve stalked you. Locked you in. Broken into your motel room. Acted like a jerk. Lied and said mean things to you. Please, don’t glorify me. I’m loyal like a dog but I happily chew on the hand that feeds me,” Nick says with a little smirk.</p>
<p>“Speaking of dogs, when we move in together, can we get one?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>Nick bursts out laughing. He looks radiantly happy and it makes Sam’s heart squeeze. When Nick stops laughing he lifts their joint hands to place a kiss on the back of Sam’s hand. "Boy, you sure don't have any problems planning your future, do you?" he chuckles. "<em>If</em> we move in together, we'll discuss it then."</p>
<p>"You don't like dogs?"</p>
<p>"I love dogs. But they're a big responsibility, and I think you haven't listened to a word I've said." Nick smiles and shakes his head. “I wish you would. I really do.”</p><hr/>
<p>Both of them are tipsy when they pile into a cab to take them back to Nick’s place. Sam sits snuggled under Nick’s arm, nose against Nick’s throat. He smells so good. Sam’s full of flutters and excitement, soaring high from a perfect date. Nick’s hand caresses Sam’s upper arm, hugging him closer while they smalltalk. Halfway home Sam opens his mouth and tastes the skin on Nick’s neck. Nick lets out a soft breath, skin prickling. So Sam does it again.</p>
<p>“Sam, please don’t,” Nick says quietly, squeezing Sam’s upper arm.</p>
<p>But the squeeze presses Sam closer and there’s no doubt Nick likes it so Sam doubles his efforts. Nick tips his head back and squeezes his eyes closed.</p>
<p>Less than ten minutes from Nick’s place they’re both breathing roughly. Nick’s face is tilted away from Sam, baring all of his wonderful throat. Sam’s hand not trapped against the seat wanders to Nick’s crotch, feeling the hard outline of a sizable erection. Nick gasps when Sam squeezes but moves Sam’s hand to his thigh instead. Sam’s never been so aroused in his life. He sucks on Nick’s earlobe, places soft bites, and wet kisses on Nick’s throat. He can feel how it makes Nick shiver.</p>
<p>In Nick’s parking lot after Nick’s paid the cab and waved goodbye to the driver, Sam pulls him close and kisses him. Nick’s eyes are closed. He opens up to Sam; kisses him back filthily, his hands digging almost painfully in Sam’s hips. They both gasp when their erections grind together. Nick pushes Sam away with a “No,” and turns to go to open the door. Sam takes his hand and their fingers lace together. By the door while Nick lets go of him to fumble with his keys and Sam shifts to wrap his arms around him from behind, one around the midriff, the other across his chest cupping a pec. He grinds against Nick’s ass. Nick stops fumbling with his keys to brace against the door post, spreading his legs leaning forward a little bit. His breath sounds labored.</p>
<p>Sam’s want is overwhelming. It’s all he can think of, like a compass needle pointing North. He <em>needs</em> Nick, naked and as close as physically possible. He’s never wanted anything this bad in his whole life.</p>
<p>Nick hisses and straightens up. He unlocks and twists around to face Sam with a suffering expression, his erection bulging his dress pants. “Why do you have to make this so hard, love?” he asks and dislodges Sam firmly with his hands on Sam’s upper arms. But he bends in to place a kiss on Sam’s lips. He starts to pull away but Sam pulls him back close and kisses him, and Nick once again reciprocates the kiss.</p>
<p>It quickly turns into heated makeout. At some point Nick lets go with one hand to fumble behind them, and then they’re stumbling inside. Sam’s keeping them tightly pulled together, and one of Nick’s hands finds its way inside the back of Sam’s jeans, squeezing an ass cheek while making a sound straight into Sam’s mouth that’s something between a hiss and a growl. Sam backs him through the hallway, determined to get them to Nick’s bedroom.</p>
<p>Nick turns his head away and pulls his hand out of Sam’s pants. “No. Sam, stop. Please.” His hand strokes up and down along Sam’s sides.</p>
<p>Sam kisses his neck, Nick curses and then they’re back to kissing, moving into the living room. Sam notices Steve sitting on the couch watching TV through the corner of his eye, but doesn’t pay attention. He walks them steadily towards the staircase.</p>
<p>Nick turns his head away, breaking the kiss again. “Stop, Sam. Let’s cuddle and watch a movie. Or sit and talk. We could―”</p>
<p>Sam’s kiss cuts him off. Nick’s one filthy kisser. He kisses like good sex feels, hungry and wet. His hands roaming Sam’s back are greedy, as if he wants to feel everything.</p>
<p>They keep backing until Nick hits the stairs. There, Nick grabs a hold of Sam’s shoulders and pulls away, starting to back up the stairs, creating an increasing gap between them. “Stop. Sam, <em>stop</em>,” he says, breathing harshly. “Let’s wait until you’ve finished college at least.”</p>
<p>“You want me,” Sam challenges and follows him upward.</p>
<p>Nick makes a pained grimace. “Yes, I do, but―” Sam silences him with a kiss but Nick pulls back again, walking up two more stairs. “No. Sam, n―” He stumbles and falls back into an awkward sit, grabbing onto Sam to catch himself and instead Sam tumbles on top of him. Sam buries his fingers in Nick’s hair and kisses him again, pressing himself as close as he can, bracing against the lower stairs with his feet to grind them together. Then something happens. Nick relaxes back to a lying position, kisses back even more passionately, his hands sliding in under Sam’s shirt to hold him tightly, palms burning skin-to-skin and Sam’s dizzy with it. He only dimly registers the stomping coming from above.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Sam’s neck is squeezed painfully hard and he’s bodily torn off Nick by the neck. He smacks into the wall beside Nick. Dean’s looming over the two of them like a thundercloud, one foot on the stairs between them and the other two steps down.</p>
<p>“Ow. What the <em>hell</em>, Dean?” Sam says angrily.</p>
<p>“No means no, Sammy! The fuck’s wrong with you?! I raised you better than this!” Dean counters.</p>
<p>Sam scoffs and frowns indignantly. Nick’s been kissing back, giving hungry touches just as much as Sam. Nick loves him. “Mind your own business, Dean, he wants it.”</p>
<p>Dean’s face darkens, eyes nearly black. His nostrils flare and jaw muscles tick. “Oh, so he wants it, huh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah!”</p>
<p>Dean’s lips pull into a tight line. “Then I guess it was he who repeatedly ignored ‘no’ and ‘stop’.”</p>
<p>Sam opens his mouth to answer but Dean’s hand shoots out and grabs Nick by the collar, yanking him to a sitting position, then, lightning-fast, punches him in the face. Nick flies backward, hitting his head on the stairs and slides down three stairs before he rolls into a ball holding his head with a groan. Steve comes rushing but stops with one foot at the bottom stairs and one hand on the railing, eyes wide and alarmed under a frown.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, Dean!” Sam says, mouth dry and heart hammering in fright. “You can’t just―!” his mouth snaps shut, body tensing up, going cold, when Dean’s fist slams into the wall just by his head, making a large dent, plaster crumbling.</p>
<p>“<em>Shut up.</em> That’s what you said. It was his fault. He wanted it, right? All dolled up and gooey-eyed for you? <em>A boner doesn’t mean consent, you shithead!</em>” Dean yells in his face.</p>
<p>Sam’s wide-eyed, terrified, frozen with fear. He’s seen Dean like this, but never directed towards him. Worse, in the back of his mind images flashes of Dad. Again, Dad’s anger wasn’t directed towards him but the consequences of it was so terrible his mind had censored it.</p>
<p>“Now you listen to me carefully, Sam, because I shouldn’t have to fucking tell you twice. No means no, okay? If there’s no safe option to say no, it isn’t consent, and I ain’t having some lowlife rapist for a brother, okay?” Dean says coldly and pokes Sam hard in the chest with a finger. Sam swallows, scared and confused. His eyes sting but he barely dares to blink. Dean straightens up. “We’ve been tryna to talk to you for weeks now, but you’ve putting yourself on a high horse, justifying yourself behind, ‘Nick loves me’, as if that somehow gives you the right to ignore his boundaries.”</p>
<p>Dean pauses then points behind him at Nick without taking his eyes off Sam. “He loves you. He’s stupidly in love with you, which, right now I can’t fathom why, but you know what that means? It means that when he says no, and you ignore it, he has no safe way of opting out. You know why?”</p>
<p>Dean’s staring at him as if he’s waiting for an answer. Sam manages a small headshake.</p>
<p>Dean bends down to shout in his face. “<em>Because you don’t hurt the ones you love, numbnut!</em> You gave him the choice to either defend himself with violence, risking fucking up your relationship beyond repair, or to just let it happen and live with the consequences.”</p>
<p>Dean stands up and drags his hands through his hair. "Jesus Christ, Sam. I'm so mad at you right now you have no idea. No means no isn't just some catchphrase you reiterate to look good in front of women, okay? If you're uncertain if the no means ‘go away’, ‘don't go further than this’, or ‘try harder’, you can ask. But Nick's been straight with you. He's told you how far he's willing to go already. He's told you his conditions. Whether or not someone desires you is a moot point. People can have fucking <em>brain</em>-reasons to say no. Maybe he has an STD? Maybe he's taken a chastity vow? Maybe he has a girlfriend and doesn’t want to be a cheating bastard? Or maybe, and here's a thought, just maybe you're just a kid and he wants to wait for you to <em>grow the fuck up!</em>”</p>
<p>Dean crouches down in front of Sam. Sam couldn’t move if he wanted to. “You say that he wants you like it’s an excuse. But he also wants heroin and ain’t nobody questioning why he’s resisting that. Last time I was at the supermarket there was a bitch holding up the line demanding to speak to the manager because the cashier wouldn’t give her last week’s rebate. I wanted to stomp on that bitch’s head until it was an unrecognizable mess and her only movement was post-death spasms. But guess what? Want, is not an excuse. Now, you go up to the guest room and think of what you’ve done. And I’ll come to you when I no longer <em>want</em> to bash your fucking head in.”</p>
<p>Sam’s still too petrified to move, but then Dean stands up abruptly and pulls his hand back as if to strike, and Sam’s body finally starts to work again. He scrambles up the stairs and runs towards the guest room with his heart in his throat, running inside and slamming the door behind him, leaning against it. He’s shaking, hands trembling in shock. Once he realizes Dean’s not following his mind jumps to Nick. Nick’s hurt. What if Dean hurts him more?</p>
<p>He opens the door carefully and listens. He can hear Dean’s voice.</p>
<p>“Did you black out? Even for a second? Steve, did he lose consciousness?”</p>
<p>Both Steve and Nick answer ‘no’.</p>
<p>“Alright. Good, good. Steve, go to the kitchen and get me a bag of frozen peas. Nicky, how many fingers am I holding up?” Dean says, but Sam can’t hear the answer. “Yeah, that’s right. Any sight distortion? Nausea? Blinding headache? No?” Dean snorts a laugh to whatever mumbled answer. “Well, yeah, obviously. Now smile for me. Good. Repeat this phrase…”</p>
<p>Sam closes the door quietly. Dean’s checking for brain damages like he did that one time Sam fell out of a bunk bed. He’s not going to hurt Nick. Sam goes to the bed and sits down on the floor on the far side of it, hugging his knees to his chest. His heart hurts. He feels like a monster. It’s hard to breathe past the lump in his throat. He gives in to the tears pushing behind his eyelids.</p><hr/>
<p>Mrs. Rourke hands Sam a bottle of water and puts a glass in front of him on the low table before she goes to sit down again. He’s been talking non-stop, in a hurry to get everything out as accurately as possible despite the burning shame in his chest. He mumbles thanks, uncorks the bottle and downs half of its content in one go.</p>
<p>“Has Dean ever been violent with you before?” Mrs. Rourke asks.</p>
<p>“Um. I guess? But usually it’s just a smack on the back of my head or upper arm. When we were kids he gave me a whooping once or twice when I was being a pain. Like when I accidentally sprayed the food he’d prepared for the week with the foam fire extinguisher. He was really mad then. But he was, like, twelve or something. It’s normal that siblings fight. That’s something I know.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke tilts her head. “Where was your father when that happened?”</p>
<p>Sam shrugs. “I don’t know? Probably off working a long-haul. Dean only made food for a full week at once when Dad wouldn’t be home.”</p>
<p>“And were there any other adults that would look after you when your Dad was away?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. “No? There was no need. Dean was there.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke draws breath as if to ask something, but lets it out with a thoughtful look as if she changed her mind. “And now? Do you feel safe with the idea of being around your brother?”</p>
<p>Sam smiles and looks at the water bottle, relaxing a notch. “Yeah… He’s the safest place on earth.”</p>
<p>“What about Dean’s behavior reminded you of your dad? The way he spoke, his expression, or something else?” Mrs. Rourke asks.</p>
<p>Sam thinks back on it, cross-referencing it against the blurry memories of Dad’s anger that he can access. His pulse speeds up. He sees Dad sitting by the kitchen table, quietly looking at Dean with a dark expression. Dean smiling at Sam, telling him to go outside to read in the tree-house and Dean would come join him later. He remembers hearing the sounds of porcelain breaking as he was leaving through the back door, and Dad’s cold voice saying, ‘Look what you made me do, boy,’ before the door closed, cutting off the sound. His breathing gets tighter and his chest starts heaving.</p>
<p>“No. We’ll save that for another day when you feel ready,” Mrs. Rourke says, dragging him back to the here and now. “Have you had an opportunity to talk to Dean since it happened?” she asks instead.</p>
<p>Sam nods and takes another sip of water to wet his dry mouth. “Yeah. Like he said he’d do, he came to the guest room when he’d cared for Nick and calmed down…”</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>Yesterday…</em>
</p>
<p>An eternity has passed since Sam came in here. His thoughts are a jumble. He’s recounting every time he’d ignored Nick’s words. He thinks of what Nick tried to tell him at the restaurant and he’s got the feeling it relates to him too somehow, but he’s too shaken to figure it out. He keeps seeing Dean, enraged, black-eyed and cold, standing over him. It’s followed by fuzzy memories of Dad standing over Dean that way, one of them saying, ‘Sam, go to your room,’ or ‘Sam, outside. Now!’</p>
<p>He hears the door open but doesn’t move, afraid of what’s about to happen. He’s still hugging his knees, forehead pressed against them. Dean rounds the bed and stops. Sam can see his feet from under his arm.</p>
<p>For a long time, Dean doesn't move. Then he sighs and sits down beside Sam, leaning his back against the bed. "You were always a good kid, Sammy. I think this is the first time you deserve a proper punishment. But I ain't gonna do that." He pauses. "I, uh, I've been on both sides of what happened in the staircase. It's not, uh… I ain't gonna call it rape because I personally think it falls into a grey area. It's like lumping a one-off slap into the same category as beating the shit outta someone, and if you brand both those things the same way without taking the circumstances and people involved into consideration, you make the word useless. But pressuring anyone into sex regardless, is wrong.”</p>
<p>“How’s Nick?” Sam asks, lifting his head enough to side-eye Dean over his arm instead of under it.</p>
<p>“Fine, mostly. A coupla bruises on the back and face. Possibly a light concussion. I’ve put Steve on keeping an eye on him just to make sure. Told Nick to take a sick-day tomorrow and he told me to fuck off, so, you know, he’s fine,” Dean answers, lips pulling up in a corner in a humorless smirk. “I suggest you go talk to him when we’re done in here because he’s fretting he’s fucked things up with you.”</p>
<p>“That <em>he’s</em> fucked things up?” Sam asks, raising his head.</p>
<p>“Well, yeah. Obviously. And he kinda needs a hug from you without you feeling him up to assure him y’all are still alright. But, later, okay? First, I need you to know that I got mad, but you’re still my brother and I ain’t never putting anyone above you. I never had the consent talk with you because when you lived at home I had no indication that I needed to, okay? You’re allowed to fuck up and learn from it. And I ain’t a saint, ok? I’ve pressured girls into sex too before the penny dropped. And, you remember when I had the talk with you about drugs? When I told you the impact weed can have on a growing brain so you shouldn’t smoke before you’re 25?”</p>
<p>Sam nods.</p>
<p>“That night when Dad didn’t want me around the house anymore I went to the lake and smoked a coupla joints with my friends, so, like, you know.” Dean shrugs. “What I’m sayin is, you can’t lose me, okay? I want you to grow up to be the kickass person I can’t be, but if you don’t, I’m still gonna be there. I’ll back you up even when I shouldn’t. I’m hoping you did what you did because you didn’t understand you did wrong, and that you’ll do better in the future. But if you don’t…” He takes a deep breath and pulls one knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. “If one day at a party I find you coming out of a room with a smirk on your face, and find a naked unconscious girl inside, I’ll dress her and bunch her into a cab, hoping that if she goes to the hospital for a rape kit, our DNAs will match so I can take the blame.”</p>
<p>“That would never happen,” Sam says vehemently.</p>
<p>“I fucking hope so. Point is, I might get mad at ya, but you can’t lose me, okay?” Dean reaches out and hooks his arm around Sam’s neck. Sam flinches, expecting pain, but all Dean does is tug him close and lean his forehead against Sam’s temple. “But, please. Show Nick some respect, okay? I don’t want to be thrown out on my ass.”</p>
<p>“I will,” Sam promises guiltily.</p><hr/>
<p>“After I left the guest room I expected Steve to be mad at me, or at least give me the cold shoulder or something, but he was sitting on the top of the stairs waiting for me, asking if I was alright,” Sam says and peels the label of his water bottle. “Dunno why he cares. He’s been trying to talk to me about this for a while and I just waved him off like an idiot.”</p>
<p>“We easily forgive people we care about,” Mrs. Rourke says, then tilts her head a little. “If you saw someone else pushing past one of your friend's boundaries, and your friend saying 'no' repeatedly, what do you think you would have done?”</p>
<p>“I did nothing when I was in that position with Steve. Except get uncomfortable. He was in the closet and I knew he had to pretend to be straight. This girl kept trying to make out with him no matter how much he told her to get lost. He keeps telling me how happy he is because I’m always there for him when he needs it. I don’t know how he got that idea. All I do is listen when he talks. I’m a useless friend.”</p>
<p>“Would you still do nothing after what happened yesterday?”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” Sam answers vehemently. “I’m gonna be more like Dean. He tore the girl off Steve too, but he didn’t hit her. I’m never letting something like it happen around me again,” he vows.</p>
<p>“That’s good, Sam. It means you take this experience to heart and learn from it. How about Nick? Did you get the chance to speak with him?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. After I talked to Steve I went to find Nick to apologize. He was in his bedroom…”</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>Yesterday…</em>
</p>
<p>Sam knocks on the door post and waits for the “Come in,” before he enters.</p>
<p>Nick lies on top of his sheets reading. He looks up and smiles when he sees Sam. “Your bossy-ass brother tried to forbid me to read. Would you believe? The audacity.”</p>
<p>“You’re supposed to rest when you’ve got a concussion,” Sam says with an uncertain smile, weighing from one foot to another, unsure if he may go inside.</p>
<p>“Well, I fucking don’t. Dean pulled his punch. I barely have a bruise. My back is worse off from sliding down the stairs. Don’t worry about it. It’s enough to be motherhenned by one person,” Nick grumps.</p>
<p>Sam looks at his feet and swallows, guilt creeping.</p>
<p>“Hey…” Nick says. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Sam’s head whips up. “<em>You’re</em> Sorry? For what?”</p>
<p>“For putting you in that situation. I should’ve said no more firmly. I shouldn’t have encouraged you. I should’ve―”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>.” Sam’s moving towards Nick before he can think. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry, I―” Nick puts his book aside and reaches out for Sam, pulling him on top of himself as soon as Sam’s close enough, then wrapping his arms around him. Something taut snaps and dislodges inside Sam, but it doesn’t dissipate the haunting guilt.</p>
<p>“Would you sleep with me tonight? Just let me hold you? No funny business?” Nick mumbles into his hair.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Please.”</p><hr/>
<p>“...and, and, and it should’ve ended right there. We lay talking while holding each other, and it was great, you know? I felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. I still do. But, like, because we both have trouble keeping our hands off each other, we, uh, we didn’t.” Sam looks up at Mrs. Rourke’s concerned and friendly face. “I, uh, I was good, alright? I didn’t try to push this time. But after we’d changed into sleeping clothes we lay face to face just looking at each other. And he caressed my hair out of my face, and, and I was passive, right? I didn’t want to mess up again. And he leaned in to give me a goodnight kiss. Just a chaste one.”</p>
<p>Sam’s rambling. He knows he’s rambling. The words have been pouring out of him since he started talking. He throws a look at the clock to see how much time he’s got left. He makes a grimace when he sees how few minutes there are. “Fuck! My time’s nearly up,” he says, then slaps his hands over his mouth, horrified. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have cursed.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke’s eyes glint with amusement and she smiles at him. “It’s okay, Sam. You’re welcome to swear as much as you like,” she says.</p>
<p>“But you’re a Christian,” Sam points out.</p>
<p>Layla laughs softly at that. “Why, yes. But I’m a love-thy-neighbor kind of Christian. It’s quite alright. And we still have time. Did you want to tell me what happened next?”</p>
<p>“I, yeah.” Sam takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair. So much had happened and the feelings are overwhelming. Normally he tells her something, she asks how he feels about it, what he wants the outcome to be, and they discuss how to tackle the situation in the future. They won’t have time to do that now. But it still feels better to unload it all so they can discuss it properly the next time. “Okay, so we kissed. No tongue this time. And then again. And again. And, um, he caressed me under my shirt and kissed my cheek and throat. We were both getting aroused by then, and I started to touch him back. But then he rolled on top of me and pinned my wrists with one hand so I couldn’t move. I, I guess he didn’t really trust me? I dunno.”</p>
<p>Sam throws another glance at the clock. “It was dark in the room and I couldn’t really see him clearly. He kissed me. For real this time. Getting really into it, keeping me pinned. And suddenly, I, uh… it was like I could feel someone else, at the same time. Like Nick’s touch emerged with memories. I didn’t <em>quite</em> get that crawling feeling. I didn’t have time to. He suddenly stopped, lay down beside me, said goodnight and just held me. And, and, it was nice.”</p>
<p>“Nick’s touch reminded you of when someone else pinned you down and touched you in a sexual way?” Mrs. Rourke asks.</p>
<p>Sam puts the now empty bottle on the table then rubs his hands together between his knees, anxiety crawling in his gut. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke looks at the clock with a brief flash of regret before she looks back at Sam. “So how do you feel about all this now?”</p>
<p>“I feel awful. Like the worst person on the planet. I know not to go where I’m not wanted. But I’ve always known when men want me. I knew Nick wanted me. Sometimes I get why he wants to wait. Other times, I don't. And, and, for once, I wanted as badly as he did. Or like I thought he did. I didn't grasp I was doing something wrong. I'm so stupid. We'd talked about boundaries and I still didn't get that it extended to people who love each other like we do. Hell, I've been told the opposite all of my childhood. I hate myself. I don't get how he, <em>they</em>, can just forgive me and still want to be friends with me. I wish I could go back in time and just listen when he drew the first line so none of this would've happened."</p>
<p>“Who told you someone isn’t allowed to have boundaries with someone they love?”</p>
<p>“Um.” Sam looks at his hands again. “Dad. Dad did.” Back when he told Mike that he’d been taught that sex was the greatest form of love―a lifetime ago―it had been the most natural thing in the world. It had been easy to say because it had been one of the fundamental truths in his life. Just like he’d known that when you say ‘no’ bad things happen. Except, both those truths have been crumbling for a while now, hadn’t they? Definitely since he started therapy. And now talking about what Dad did wasn’t just forbidden because it was secret, but now he felt ashamed of it like he hadn’t before. He hopes Mrs. Rourke won’t push that matter right now or he feels like he might break completely.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke hums with a thoughtful pause, regarding him for a beat. "Sometimes we make mistakes in life, Sam, and that is okay.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but I hurt Nick,” Sam persists, interrupting her. “It’s not okay.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke bends her head to the side in a sort of half-nod she makes when she doesn't fully agree with him on something but acknowledges that he isn’t wrong at the same time. “The only thing we can do when we mess up is acknowledge and take responsibility for our actions, then do our best to do better. There’s room for growth. You feel remorse and guilt for having acted in a hurtful way towards someone you care about. It means you have empathy and compassion, hallmarks of a good and loving person. Regretting what you did wrong isn’t a bad thing, but I want you to focus on how you can prevent yourself from repeating this mistake from happening again. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to discuss what you told me today more in depth tomorrow on your regular appointment?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Please.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke smiles. “Good. You’re not a bad person, Sam. Your friends stand by you because you’re worthy of love even when you can’t see it. We have to end now because I have someone else scheduled to come in, but I’ve seen that you’re very good at writing your thoughts down, so if you have thoughts in particular you want to go over tomorrow, pen it into your book. And if you feel overwhelmed, you have my number.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay.” Sam stands up. “Thanks for squeezing me in. I know you barely got a word in edgewise, but I really needed to get this off my chest. Sorry for not letting you speak much.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke chuckles softly. “This is your time and you’re in control of it. I’m here to help, not to listen to my own voice,” she says with admonishing humor.</p>
<p>Sam huffs in amusement and holds back the impulse to ask for a hug. He says goodbye and leaves.</p>
<p>This is the first day he’s cut class since Dean started dragging him out of bed. He’d called Mrs. Rourke’s office as soon as Dean had dropped him off at school and then not been able to focus even a little at the lessons, waiting for his 1 o’clock appointment. He feels a bit lighter after having unloaded but is still an emotional mess. He considers what to do now. He should go back to class but he’s sure he’d be wasting his time.</p>
<p>Instead, he decides to go back to his dorm and write down his thoughts and questions he wants to ask, maybe try to guess what questions Mrs. Rourke would’ve asked him if he’d let her talk and wasn’t just talking a mile a minute to get everything out.</p>
<p>A while later he’s by his desk with a blank document open. He stares at it for 15 minutes, not getting any coherence in how he wants to start. He minimizes the window with a sigh. The folder ‘Little Bird’ is placed in the middle of his desktop. It’s been untouched for so long, a source of anxiety and guilt about not being able to write.</p>
<p>This time, though, just looking at the folder makes him remember the scene he left off; the dirty white wolf pouncing on Little Bird, grabbing him in its maw, and Little Bird thinking he’s about to die. And this time, he sees the words to describe what happens.</p>
<p>He clicks on the folder, opens the latest chapter doc, and begins to write…</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay. So I want to talk about boundaries. When we set boundaries we need to verbalize the consequences if they're broken, and we need to follow through on those consequences. Nick's failed to do that. He has not given any consequences to Sam's repeated transgressions which encourages Sam's behavior and reinforces the lesson John hammered into Sam throughout his upbringing. A consequence might be 'if you keep trying to french kiss me you're no longer allowed any form of kisses from me', 'if you keep touching me in a way I ask you not to, you're no longer allowed to touch me at all.' Boundaries are <b>not</b> something you should use to control others. It's not, '<i>You</i> have to say or do this around me.' It's, 'If you act this way or say these things, <i><span class="u">I</span></i> will leave the room/stop inviting you/stop talking to you/break off contact permanently.'<br/>Sometimes it's easy. Many times it's not. Most of our boys have had their boundaries ignored so often through life and definitively through their formative years that the concept is muddy, to begin with. In Dean, we see a strong example because while he's playing fast and loose with other people's boundaries, he's very clear on how to respect sexual boundaries. But when it's himself that's under pressure, he's a lot more likely to fold as Nick did.<br/>Nick's very torn here. He doesn't want to encourage Sam, but he's also afraid that Sam will be hurt or mad when he rejects Sam, so he instantly seeks confirmation that they're still alright. You see it outside of Nick's home where Nick says no, pushes away from making out, then delivers a quick, chaste kiss right after. On the stairs, he gives up. Like Sam says, physically, Nick wants him. But getting aroused isn't the same as consent. What Dean tells Sam is valid, the delivery... Nnnn not so much.</p>
<p>Most rapes happen in relationships, with people we know and trust already. It can be your partner feeling entitled to sex, a friend tired of getting friend-zoned, a relative, or a colleague. People you know and trust, who have access to you already. I've been in Nick's situation repeatedly. It's easier to just give in and suck it up instead of starting a big conflict about it, whether it be an ex who keeps coming on strong when you've both been drinking, until you fold despite having a significant other, or saying no to your significant other for reasons unrelated to lust or attraction (like a yeast infection or something that causes pain) and getting the no ignored. In those instances that have happened to me, it hasn't been traumatizing, but left me feeling bummed out and sad about being ignored, in contrast to when strangers have done things to me.</p>
<p>While consent issues may exist on a sliding scale, bodily autonomy is generally speaking treated with disregard in our society. Many adults think, just as Sam does, that there are exceptions in marriage/for parents/etc: that you simply lose the right to say no just because you love somebody - that the person has a right to your body. But if someone you love constantly oversteps your boundaries, that love is going to start to wane and the trust you had in them will dim. So sliding scale or not, I personally think that when discussing consent on a societal scale, it isn't the grayscale that should be nitpicked, but making sure that everyone understands the concept of consent and bodily autonomy to begin with. Then it's up to you as an individual to decide what transgression you personally can brush off as 'minor' or not.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. STEVE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve's getting really tired of his housemates' shit. His housemates, on the other hand, are just getting started.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those of you who've read a lot of my stuff, we're about to see a familiar cameo flash by. ;) It's been hinted at back in chapter 7. If this is the first story of mine you're reading, nevermind this. You don't need any prior knowledge of minor OCs popping into the screen for a second.</p>
<p><b>Warnings:</b> Steve uses homophobic slurs. Discussions of suicide prevention. I'm gonna warn for cheating too, because no matter how much Dean insists they aren't a real couple, he's acting too much like a boyfriend to Mike.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Dean bites his lip and sinks deeper into the couch, giving the TV news his rapt attention. “Fuck, man, I think the worst part of realizing I’m bisexual is understanding why men like that make me lose all concepts,” he says without taking his eyes off the man smirking a ‘no comment’ at the reporter.</p>
<p>Steve scrunches up his face in disgust. “Bro. He’s in his <em>sixties</em>.”</p>
<p>“So? His <em>presence</em>, man. Back in the days, I didn’t get why men like him made me all flustered and jittery, but now? <em>Hot damn</em>.”</p>
<p>“Okay, I know one shouldn’t kink shame, but, <em>eww</em>,” Steve declares.</p>
<p>Nick comes running from the music room. “What did I miss? What are we kink-shaming?” he asks excitedly.</p>
<p>“Dean wants to fuck old people,” Steve answers.</p>
<p>Dean sputters. “Not old people in general. Men like him,” he says indignantly and gestures at the screen. “Good looking, charismatic, well dressed and well-spoken, put-together. He’s like the older, richer version of Mikey.”</p>
<p>“Mike has exactly nothing in common with Marlon douchebag-of-the-day Williams,” Steve says then frowns at Nick when Nick leans his elbows against the couch’s backrest to look at the New York business magnate on screen. “And you said <em>I’ve</em> got daddy issues,” he accuses.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Darlin’, we’ve all got daddy issues and dilfs are a thing. I’m more amused by Dean using Mikey and put-together in the same sentence.”</p>
<p>“Shaddap. I know Mike gets a bit angsty around people but usually, he ain’t showing it,” Dean defends. “He’s got the looks, the charm, the job, the car, the apartment, the rewarding hobby. He needs fucking nothing except perhaps for some eye-candy to drape over his arm. Dunno why he chose <em>me</em> for that when he coulda had Alex, but whatever.” On the TV, the news move on to the next story so he can look away from the screen.</p>
<p>“I still don’t get how you can see any similarities between Mr. Super-Bond-villain and Mike,” Steve says. “Plus the old man is vain as fuck. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s had surgery done.”</p>
<p>“So? I would get a nose job done too if I could afford it,” Dean says defensively.</p>
<p>Steve’s lip pulls up skeptically in a corner. “A nose job? Bro, your nose is fucking perfect.”</p>
<p>“No, it’s not. It’s too thin. I want a cute nose. Like Nick’s.”</p>
<p>“<em>My</em> nose?” Nick says in surprise and touches his nose carefully.</p>
<p>Dean turns his head to smile up at Nick. “Yeah… cutest nose I ever saw on a guy.” Nick’s lips tug in a smile, brows twitching in a disbelieving frown, cheeks getting a distinctly pinker hue. Dean’s heart flutters as their gazes lock and time starts to stretch.</p>
<p>Steve looks between them and makes a disgusted sound. “Whatever. At least you’re not fawning over that disgusting ballsack,” he says to Dean and gestures at the TV, breaking the spell.</p>
<p>Dean tears his eyes away from Nick’s blue gaze to see who Steve’s talking about.</p>
<p>“<em>...first day of the trial against Sandover CEO, Zachariah Adler, accused of…</em>”</p>
<p>“Eww. Fuck no. It’s creeps like him that make me a determined gun owner,” Dean says with a face of repulsion.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick opens Dean’s door without knocking. Dean’s sitting by his computer, a plaid shirt hanging open over his naked chest. His new ring-light puts him on perfect display while his atrocious led lights give him pink and blue highlights. But he isn’t filming or editing. He’s leaned forward on his elbows holding a hand-mirror in one hand and painting his lips with a slender brush with the other.</p>
<p>Dean jerks, quickly spinning his chair around to scowl at him. “Jesus Christ! Don’t you fucking knock?”</p>
<p>Nick pulls back and closes the door, heart hammering excitedly beneath his rib cage. Dean’s beautiful, and that was an aesthetic that spoke to Nick on a personal level. He’s feeling something he hasn’t felt in years. Not since Mike moved out. <em>Inspiration.</em></p>
<p>For a few seconds, he stands rock still, considering what to do. But his old passion is calling him too loudly.</p>
<p>He turns on his heel and marches to his bedroom, then snatches his camera from its shelf. He quickly checks the batteries and memory card. Gabe hasn’t fucked anything up and whatever photos he’d taken they’re no longer on Nick’s storage. Then he marches back to Dean’s room and tears the door open.</p>
<p>Dean flinches again and stares accusingly at him. “<em>Dude!</em>”</p>
<p>“No. Keep putting on your makeup. You’re beautiful, the lighting is perfect, and this is fucking art. Trust me,” Nick says and goes down on one knee beside Dean, raising his camera and snapping his first picture. “Trust me, darling. I know my way around a camera. I’ll show you.”</p>
<p>Dean hesitates for a beat with an uncertain frown. “You’re not just looking to get blackmail material on me, right? Cuz I might not want everyone to know but this ain’t something I’d be afraid of getting exposed.”</p>
<p>“No. Pick that slender brush up and paint your lips. Pretend I’m not here.”</p>
<p>Dean hesitates for another beat, then his face smooths out. “Alright.”</p>
<p>By the time Steve gets home, Nick and Dean are downstairs with Dean lying in a pose on the couch, every standing lamp directed Dean’s way. Dean’s shirtless, wearing one of Nick’s leather jackets, jeans, sooty makeup, and glossy lips. Nick’s standing above Dean, balancing with one foot on the living room table and the other on the backrest of the couch. “That’s it, darling. Now one arm over your head and the other rested on your belly. Now, can I get a smirk. Perfect. Fuck, you’re so hot. Now bite your lip.” Nick keeps giving encouragement and directions, snapping photos continuously. Dean’s a fucking natural. (Probably not. There’s probably years of practicing in front of a mirror behind it.)</p>
<p>Steve enters the living room and stops in the middle of the floor, his lip pulling up in a lopsided grimace. “Fuck sake, you two,” he complains.</p>
<p>Nick looks up. “You want to do a joint shoot? Dean can do your makeup,” he asks hopefully, getting ideas of how he can pose them. (Although, some of those ideas may not be appropriate to suggest.)</p>
<p>“Hell no, bro,” Steve says and takes a giant step back, holding up his hands. “I ain’t getting involved in this shit.”</p>
<p>Dean bends his head back and to the side to smile playfully at Steve. “It’s just photos, man,” he says, looking so damn cute Nick has to snap a few more pictures.</p>
<p>“Yeah right,” Steve mutters and turns to walk towards the stairs. “Just clean up after yourselves when you’re done. I’ll be in my room,” he says and hurries up the stairs.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers and gets off the couch, shoving the table aside.</p>
<p>“What was that all about?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“I have no idea,” Nick lies, damn certain Steve picked up on Dean making love to the camera. But it’s not like they’re going to <em>do</em> anything. “Now, sit up in the middle of the couch and lean forward on your elbows,” he instructs and crouches down in front of Dean.</p>
<p>A while later, they lie on their bellies side by side on Nick’s bed with Nick’s laptop in front of them, going through the hundreds of photos Nick’s taken. Their shoulders are brushing and Nick’s looking more at Dean’s face than the laptop, reveling nervously in Dean’s reaction. The slightly parted lips and wide eyes. He really should’ve told Dean to put on a shirt because he’s far too acutely aware of Dean’s naked shoulder brushing his.</p>
<p>“Jesus, man. You weren’t lying. These are fucking awesome!” Dean says nearly breathlessly.</p>
<p>“I told you I knew what I was doing,” Nick purrs. “Mike used to be my muse. I almost stopped taking photos altogether when he moved out. Has he shown you any of the pics I took of him in college?”</p>
<p>Dean shakes his head and turns his head to look hopefully at Nick.</p>
<p>Nick smirks and opens up another album on the laptop. “These are my best-of. And this is my favorite.” He clicks on a picture of Mike where he’s wearing white pants, and a wet white shirt hanging open. He’s crouched down but leaning back against a white wall, elongating his body, looking at the camera.</p>
<p>“Fuck me,” Dean breathes. “You’re fucking genius. Can I have a copy of this to print out?”</p>
<p>“Naturally.”</p>
<p>“Can I publish the pics you took of me on my Instagram? I’ll credit you and link to any account you want.”</p>
<p>“Of course, darlin’. Any chance I get to do a shoot with you again?”</p>
<p>“Hells yeah, you can! You make me look fucking hot.”</p>
<p>Nick smirks lopsidedly. “I’m not making you look hot, sweetheart, I’m just documenting what’s already there,” he says and bumps Dean’s shoulder with his own.</p>
<p>Dean averts his face looking at the mattress with a flustered smile. Nick would swear he’s blushing. “Shut up. ...thanks,” he says and side-eyes Nick through his lashes.</p>
<p>Nick’s heart skips a beat. <em>Fuck.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>“Hey, so, I have to ask,” Gabe says to Dean, trading off with Steve behind the drums. “In today’s video you talked about a deathwish? What prompted that?”</p>
<p>“He did? You did?” Mike asks, looking first at Gabe then at Dean with concern on his face. Dean uploaded it while they were on their way and Mike was driving so couldn’t possibly have seen it.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“What prompted it?” Gabe asks again.</p>
<p>“Fuck sake, it wasn’t that serious, bro,” Steve says impatiently and goes to sit down beside Annie and Ennis.</p>
<p>“Well, I mean, it was. But it wasn’t about me,” Dean says, holding the guitar without playing. He looks at Mike. “I basically said that sometimes it feels like everything is shit and you just wish it could end, right? Like, if I could just fucking cease, that would be good, thank you. And then I get a good solid 8 hours of sleep and discover I didn't actually want to die, I was just tired."</p>
<p>Annie chuckles. "Sounds like midterms and finals," she jokes. Ennis fist bumps her.</p>
<p>Dean huffs in amusement. "Right, right. The point I was trying to make was that even when it's tough and everything looks hopeless, there can be small things to make you hold on until the chance for something better comes along. Like, as long as you're alive, there's hope. And there are people out there that'll be there for you. You just gotta find them. Which is helluva lot easier now with the internet and all. I dunno. Just watch the video. It's a three-minute talk while I was walking from the neighbor. I always say I have no idea what I'm doing but when it comes to suicide prevention, it ain't a fucking lie."</p>
<p>"Whose suicide are you trying to prevent?" Gabe insists.</p>
<p>"Nobody's. Anybody's. Okay, so yesterday I was gonna have a quick wank before bed, alright? So I went on to Omegle for some chat roulette to find someone to join me.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers, Ennis laughs, Steve looks at Dean with a hard-to-read but still amused expression, Annie slaps a hand over her face with eyes that look both horrified and delighted. Dean’s pointedly not looking at Mike.</p>
<p>“Oh my God, Dean,” Annie says, “I can’t believe you admit to cheating right in front of Mike.”</p>
<p>“Hey, jerking off ain’t cheating, lady,” Dean defends himself but does it with a smile to pretend he’s confident in the statement.</p>
<p>“No, but if you go online to do it with someone else it is,” Annie declares.</p>
<p>“Pornhub is a thing, you know,” Ennis says, instantly pressing his lips into a thin, amused line. It’s cute because everything about his body language screams ‘I’m blushing’ even though his darker skin doesn’t show it.</p>
<p>Dean shakes his head. “Nah, it doesn’t count. Randos on the internet that you jerk off with for five minutes, they’re like interactive NPCs―” He has to pause when that cracks up everyone in the room. Dean can hear Mike laugh and braves a look at him. Mike’s sitting behind the piano with a hand covering the lower half of his face, looking at Dean with disbelieving amused eyes, shaking his head, shoulders jumping with laughter. Dean’s pretty sure he’s in trouble, but hopefully they won’t have the fight in front of everyone.</p>
<p>Once everyone has calmed down a bit, he goes on. “Sure, I could watch porn on Pornhub, and I have. Ain’t lying and saying I haven’t. But, I dunno, man, it’s so hard to find good videos. Like, they all start with the guy getting a boner and ends when he comes, and in between, I dunno. It’s so fake, you know? And half the time it’s like they’re tryna reenact The Prodigy’s ‘Smack my bitch up’. I like rough sex but I dunno, it feels like these guys don’t know the difference between abuse and rough sex, and they’re all talking so degrading. I mean, if you say shit like that to me during sex, I’m gonna believe every word of it. So, yeah, it squicks me the hell out. I much prefer something more realistic, you know?”</p>
<p>The reactions to this statement are varied, while most of them are still giggling or sniggering, Nick, Gabe, and Mike are looking at him as if he said something overly revealing and their brains are all ticking uncomfortably. Dean hurries to keep talking to avoid follow-up questions. “Anyway, that’s why I like Omegle after I got over the initial shock of the sheer number of dicks popping up unprompted on the screen.” He turns his head to give Nick a super-dry look and says, “Thanks for the heads up on that, by the way.”</p>
<p>Once again the room erupts in laughter, Nick laughing harder than all of them. It’s enough to distract from whatever bullshit questions the angel-brothers had looked to gear up to ask a moment ago.</p>
<p>Mike grins at him. “You could just call me and we could do it together,” he says, looking confident but blushing hotly.</p>
<p>“No way, man. Firstly, it was 3:30 in the morning. And, come on. I jerk off like three times a day. There’s no way I’m gonna disrespect your time and needs that much, okay?”</p>
<p>Ennis laughs loudly. “I can’t believe this is a discussion you have in front of people.”</p>
<p>“Hey, this is my home. Here we talk about masturbation freely. If that makes you uncomfortable you can leave the room and come back later,” Dean says with a smirk. It’s not like he <em>isn’t</em> embarrassed to talk about it. But he doesn’t want to be, so he’s leading by example.</p>
<p>“Nah, I’m good. You do you. I just,” Ennis says and gestures vaguely at Annie with a flustered smile.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “You embarrassed to talk about it in front of girls? Big mistake, dude. Talk sex with chicks and they’ll teach you stuff. Granted, that’s part of what ruins porn for me. Like, when you see a girl shove some monster dildo into her wooha, and I’m sitting there like, ‘Lady, why are you moaning? The clitoris is topside.”</p>
<p>This time when the room erupts with laughter, Dean’s pretty damned self-satisfied and gives Annie a wink.</p>
<p>Gabe gets their attention by playing a quick drum-roll. “Suicide prevention?” he prompts like a dog with a bone.</p>
<p>“Right, right. So yesterday, I was lucking the hell out about finding some rando to get off with. It was like, ‘Ma’am, you’re real pretty an’ all, but before you flash me your tits, I’m gonna have to see some ID,’” Dean says and sniggers. “Like, I swear, I was only getting teens for some reason. And sweet-sixteen doesn’t do it for me, okay? I just feel like a creep when minors come on to me. But then this guy pops up on my screen, and he recognizes me, right? Went full-on fanboy.”</p>
<p>“You weren’t sitting with your dick out, were you?” Steve asks.</p>
<p>“<em>No.</em> Jesus,” Dean sniggers. “Hell no. I ain’t whipping that thing out until I’ve established that’s something everyone involved wants, okay? And this guy, he’s just 15. Of course, I’m gonna take some time talking to him since he’s a fan of my YouTube channel. And shit got deep pretty damn fast, to be honest. This guy’s hanging on by a thread. We talked for about two hours and I can’t just tell him it gets better, right? I don’t know if it will. In my experience, everything can always get worse. And he’s a prisoner in his home for at least three more years. That’s a long-ass time to just hang in there.”</p>
<p>The mood in the room shifts markedly. Dean goes on. “I didn’t say that. But I did share some of my past struggles and what I’d done to get through it. And I got him to promise to comment on all my videos and I’d always reply. Like, I legit wanted to get in the car and haul my ass to Bangor, Maine and kidnap this kid to bigger, better things. But I can’t. I did tell him to find online friends to help him hold on. There are kickass people out there and sometimes you just don’t know. Sometimes the most unlikely asshole will dig you out of the trash and go, ‘Wow. Look at this garbage. It’s mine now. I’m gonna keep it and I’m gonna love it.’” He smiles at Nick who grins at him, throwing him a wink. “Anyway, so yeah. That kept me up all night and that’s why I made that video. I never realized that becoming a YouTuber would land me with that kind of responsibility, nor that just saying, ‘Hang in there’ at the end of my videos actually <em>means</em> something to some people.”</p>
<p>Everyone’s quiet after this. It’s that heavy, oppressive silence of people contemplating a hard subject. Dean hates it.</p>
<p>“But you’re not answering the most important question of them all,” Nick finally breaks the silence.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>Nick smirks. “Did you manage to get off?” It pops the tension like a bubble, and most of them laugh harder than the joke merits.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dean’s nervous when Mike and he stumble into Dean’s room kissing. Mike hasn’t said anything about Omegle, but Dean’s sure the fight is coming. He’s doing his best to distract Mike. If they’re kissing, Mike can’t talk, right?</p>
<p>Of course, he ain’t that lucky. They pull apart when they fall back on the bed and that’s enough for Dean to find himself on his back with Mike on all fours above him, saying, “We need to talk about the Omegle thing.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p>Dean deflates. “Alright. Out with it.”</p>
<p>“Dean, I―” Mike tips to the side to lay beside Dean, but cuts himself off staring at the wall with a surprised expression.</p>
<p>Dean follows his gaze to the big picture on the wall, hanging about head-height if you lay in bed. It’s the pic Nick had taken of Mike in college, where he’s dressed all in white looking like a damn supermodel. “Nick gave it to me. It’s a bit of a hassle because I have to blur it out in my videos since you haven’t signed a release form to let me feature you, but man, that picture is da bomb.”</p>
<p>Mike smiles. “If you hang it over there, it won’t be in the shot when you film,” he says and points at a spot on the wall further away.</p>
<p>“No. I want it where it is. That way you’re the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed, even when you’re not here,” Dean says resolutely. He’s not letting Mike decide where he can keep his pictures. Mike’s face morphs, smile getting wider, eyes glittering joyously. He tips over to faceplant on Dean’s collar bone. Dean chuckles. “I said something right for a change, huh?” he asks jokingly.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Mike agrees and places a kiss on Dean’s throat. “And, um, you, you <em>can</em> call me if you want to get off together. I, I, I’ve never done it that way so you’re going to have to direct me a bit, but, um…”</p>
<p>Dean chuckles and wraps his arms around Mike, stroking him over the hair. “Okay, I’d fucking love to, so don’t get me wrong here, okay? But there’s no way I’m gonna call you for a five-minute jerkoff in the middle of the night and then hang up. Mostly, I get off as stress relief, right? I’m at a stress level of up to here,” he holds up his hand as far up above him as he can to demonstrate, “and when I jerk off it goes down to here.” He lowers his hand to half the height. “Mostly, I don’t even bother building up a proper fantasy. It’s like, ‘Boobs. Dick. Awesome. Done.’”</p>
<p>Mike bursts into laughter and lifts his head to look at Dean with skeptical amusement. “I get your point, but I’m not comfortable with you getting off with strangers online.”</p>
<p>“Why not? You afraid you’re gonna lose me? Cuz I’m telling you, that ain’t happening with some dick-out, wife-beater-clad mofo accessorizing with Cheetos stains.”</p>
<p>Mike makes an amused grimace. “You’d jerk off with someone like that?”</p>
<p>“I have. Like, he or she has to have <em>some</em> attractive trait, but honestly, them being horny is pretty much the criteria. I get off, click away, and think no more about them. It’s gonna happen and the question is if you want me to lie about it or not?”</p>
<p>“I want you to be straight with me,” Mike says seriously.</p>
<p>“<em>Nnnn.</em> Are you sure about that? Because the plans I have for us tonight ain’t exactly straight,” Dean jokes and waggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. “You know what I mean.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But, look. In my world, there’s sex and there’s sex, alright? I’d love to sext or have phone sex with you. I’d be thrilled to. But then I want to take my time, build a fantasy and really imagine us being together and hell if I’m gonna let you hang up right after. I, uh,” Dean has to pause with a suddenly embarrassed little chuckle. “With someone I actually give a shit about, it’s, uh, the post-coital cuddling is part of the fantasy, if you feel me?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“And, don’t get me wrong. If the other person is good at what they do, 20 minutes is enough both to get off and to get that sense of, uhm, of closeness afterwards. Even through texts. But, um…” Dean trails off. He’s not sure if he really wants to delve into how someone can make him feel relaxed and cherished in the aftermath with just a couple of texts considering who the last person to do that was. “Hey, if you want, we can play the Omegle chat roulette together?” he asks instead, perking up hopefully.</p>
<p>“Uh-uh,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“How about you sit hidden and watch me do it? That way you’ll see exactly what level I’m at when I do it?” That’s a tantalizing thought. “It ain’t a personal thing for me as it is when I’m with you, but I ain’t thrashing them either. I make them feel good too. I just don’t give a shit. But if you were sitting closeby, I could get off, then come take care of you and you’d be getting all the real sugar.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and shakes his head. “No. No thank you. I, I sort of understand where you’re coming from, but no. I can understand the difference between sex and sex. I’ve had one-night stands and booty-calls. But when I like someone, that feels too intimate and personal to share. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m introverted and shy,” he adds with a dry smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah… it’s a problem,” Dean jokes. “Oh, speaking of. Nick suggested a photoshoot he’d like to do with me but I kinda felt that I wanted your opinion on it before I said yes.”</p>
<p>Mike pushes himself onto straight arms above Dean with excited eyes. “Is it the morning mist shoot?” he asks.</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “He told you about that, huh?”</p>
<p>“No. But he tried to convince me of doing that shoot back in college. I hate being in front of a camera so there’s no way I’m going to let him take nude photos of me. But I would <em>love</em> to get my hands on photos of <em>you</em> like that,” Mike says greedily.</p>
<p>Dean laughs. “Alright, babe. You got it. And from what I understand I won't be fully naked. There’s gonna be a drape loosely involved.”</p>
<p>“Loosely, is the keyword,” Mike leers and lowers himself down.</p>
<p>Nothing really gets resolved. Except Mike being okay with Dean going into the woods early morning when the mist hangs low, to pose naked in front of Nick. Maybe Mike doesn’t dare to push about Omegle in case Dean reminds him it isn’t cheating when they’re not a real couple.</p>
<hr/>
<p>No matter how unlikely the odds were, maybe it was bound to happen sooner or later, and just a coincidence it happens only a few days later. But Dean finds himself staring into an equally surprised, familiar face on his computer screen. “Really? Dick out from the start, Nick? What if I was a minor?” Dean jokes, covering up the excited flutter of his heart with a cocky smirk.</p>
<p>“If a minor clicked the 18+ button they have themselves to blame, and I find this to be the fastest way to get rid of people that aren’t interested,” Nick answers, surprise morphing into arrogance.</p>
<p>Dean bites his lip, going through a long, <em>long</em> list in his head for why this is a bad idea. “So…” He rolls his chair out enough for the bulge in his sweatpants to show. “You, uh, wanna…?”</p>
<p>Nick smirks, hand traveling up and down his shaft lazily. “Do I want to see you fall apart when I tell you exactly all the things I’d do to you if you were here with me right now? Why, of course, darling.”</p>
<p>Dean throws a nervous glance at the door. He can see that Nick’s naked and propped up against pillows in his bed, just a corridor and a bathroom between them.</p>
<p>“Now, now, darlin’,” Nick drawls. “I can see what you’re thinking. Don’t. I’m at the other side of the country as far as you’re concerned.”</p>
<p>Dean relaxes with a flustered laugh. “I, I, I wasn’t. Promise.” He hates the tendril of disappointment that mixes with the relief inside of him.</p>
<p>“Good. Now, I know how well you take instructions, so unbutton that shirt for me. And make a show of it, sweetheart. I’m planning to take my time with you.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick’s impressed. All while he’s stewing in Angst™, Dean seems to compartmentalize with no problem whatsoever. There’s not a hint of a flicker of awkwardness when Dean chirps his happy ‘good morning’, gives Nick his brief kiss, then whacks Nick’s hand with a spatula when he tries to steal a piece of bacon Dean’s frying. Nick calls him a selfish ass and goes to sit down to wait to be served, meeting Steve’s narrowed gaze. He wonders if Steve can see that Nick’s spent hours staring at his bedroom door tonight, debating with himself if he could somehow justify going over to Dean’s room and crawl into bed with him just to get to hold him after what they did. It wouldn’t be actually ‘doing something’. It would just be sleeping with the scent of the other person in their nostrils.</p>
<p>Well, he couldn’t justify that. Not after seeing Dean butt-naked arching back over his chair in ecstasy. Not after having Dean lean his face close to the camera and stick his tongue out gaping wide with greedy eyes so Nick could unload on the screen and get a perfect visual of what Dean would look like covered in his come. Not after discovering that Dean’s got a praise-kink a mile wide. What was it he said a couple of days ago? ‘I mean, if you say shit like that to me during sex, I’m gonna believe every word of it.’ Sexting doesn’t convey how eager someone is for praise or compliments, how much they soak them in. Nick refused to let Dean go once they were done, just to see him fluster and relax when they talked in the aftermath. If Nick had gone over there, a second round would’ve happened and that would’ve been stepping over the line. Through the computer is one thing. They weren’t touching each other. It doesn’t count.</p>
<p><em>Oh, really? Then you wouldn’t mind telling Mikey what you did, would you?</em> the Mike voice in his brain says mockingly.</p>
<p>Nick ignores the voice and focuses on Steve who’s glaring at him. “What did I do this time?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Steve grumps, then relents. “It’s not you. I’m just frustrated about Ryan. I’ve been staying away like you told me―”</p>
<p>Nick holds up his hands, palms out. “Now, now. I didn’t say you had to stop seeing him. I warned you where you were heading, that’s all.”</p>
<p>Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever, bro. But you were right. I didn’t see it until you pointed it out.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you did,” Dean interrupts. “You spent a good long time venting about it before.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, I’m talking,” Steve snipes at Dean then looks at Nick again. “It’s no big deal. It’s just a crush, for fuck sake. They go away if left alone for long enough. Believe me, I’ve had a lot of crushes. But I’ve discovered I kinda like dating. Problem is, everyone I know who swings my way is off the table. I don’t wanna go on Grindr or some bullshit like that. It’s not the sex I miss. It’s <em>dating</em>. Where the fuck do I find others like me? I don’t like those over-effeminate fairies. I like bros like myself and you can’t fucking spot them in a crowd.”</p>
<p>“I can make a video introduction for ya,” Dean offers. “Set up an email and mention that you’re single af. You’re a hot guy and there are already folks simping in the comment section for ya since the workout video. Bet at least some guys will take the bait,” he says and comes to deliver their breakfast plates, then goes to fetch coffee for him and Nick.</p>
<p>“Thanks. I guess I’ll have to resort to that,” Steve grumps dissatisfied.</p>
<p>“Or, we can go to a gay club,” Nick suggests.</p>
<p>“Ooh! Can I come? I’ve never been to a gay club,” Dean chirps enthusiastically and comes to sit down beside Steve. Under the table, Dean’s legs knock into Nick’s. Neither of them pulls back.</p>
<p>“Would you like that, Babygay? The three of us going out to a gay bar together?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>Steve looks between them with a strange expression on his face. “Just the three of us…?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Nick answers, wondering why that’s the part that’s making Steve look iffy.</p>
<p>Steve sighs. “Yeah, I guess,” he says resignedly.</p>
<p>“Awesome,” Dean grins, eyes sparkling as if he’d been offered an adventure.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick gets why Steve’s apprehensive about going out to party with just the two of them later that afternoon. Nick and Dean are in the kitchen. Dean, the little fucker, has made cinnamon buns that are cooling on the counter. They’re for later when Dean’s at work and their house is properly invaded by partying kids. Nick tries to filch one but Dean snatches it right out of his hand and it’s <em>on</em>. Nevermind that there’s a whole tray of them. Nick wants the one Dean denied him, specifically. Why? Because Nick doesn’t like to take a ‘no’ from someone who’s giggling and grinning like a little shit.</p>
<p>That leads to them chasing each other around the kitchen, wrestling for the bun Dean keeps holding out of reach, both of them giggling like overgrown kids. Nick finally manages to trap Dean against the kitchen table, wraps one arm around him, and with one lift and a lean, lays Dean’s upper body flat on his back over the table, pinning him with his own weight. Dean’s laughing so hard he’s squealing, but still holding the damn bun out of reach.</p>
<p>Nick pins one of Dean’s wrists with a hand and leans as far as he can over Dean’s body to reach the bun. Dean’s laughter falters and hot puffs of breath hit Nick’s cheek. Nick stops and turns his head, realizing that when he does that, he’s so close their noses brush. Dean’s grinning, letting out little stray, nervous giggles, green green green eyes looking at Nick apprehensively, and, like <em>that</em>, a new tension skyrockets.</p>
<p>For a moment, they stay still, not a fucking inch between them, and Nick can taste every single winded breath Dean lets out, chest heaving underneath Nick. Nick’s eyes flick down to Dean’s lips. A tantalizing pink tongue-tip flicks out to wet those soft-looking lips, smile fading. Nick meets Dean’s gaze. Dean’s waiting, wondering where Nick’s about to take them. Nick tilts his head ever so slightly, holding his breath, heart jack-rabbiting in his rib cage.</p>
<p>A second of hesitation, then Dean licks his lips again and tilts his head the other way, looking at Nick’s lips, giving the all-fucking-clear of stupidity.</p>
<p>“Guys, time to pull out and zip up. Mike’s car just parked outside.”</p>
<p>Steve’s voice from the doorway makes Dean jerk with a yelp, then burst out laughing when he’s still thoroughly pinned since Nick doesn’t move an inch.</p>
<p>Nick turns his head to spot Steve leaning against the doorpost with arms crossed over his chest and a fed-up expression. Nick sniggers. “We’re not fucking. Your mommy just denies me a taste of his buns, and I can’t have that,” he drawls jokingly.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Just leave me out of it,” Steve says then leaves, walking towards the hallway.</p>
<p>“Let me up,” Dean giggles. “Mike might misconstrue this.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure he would,” Nick lies in agreement. “So if I were you, I’d hand over the bun.” There’s exactly nothing to misconstrue and they both know it. But it does earn him his cinnamon bun prize, as Dean giggling calls him an asshole and hands it over.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dean’s got his legs over Steve’s lap, his feet sticking out over the couch edge, and his head on a pillow on Nick’s lap. Nothing fishy about that. That’s the magic of normalization. At this point, even Ennis or Andy would lay down like this sometimes. Dean’s tired to the bone. His head’s simmering with law texts he’d been trying to learn to draw up a standard contract for people to appear in his videos. He’s finally getting monetized. Granted, his frequent swearing will just as quickly get his videos <em>de-</em>monetized, but that’s not the point.</p>
<p>His days are jam-packed. Wake up, fix breakfast for whoever’s sleeping at home that day, go into the city to drag Sam out of bed, follow him to the gym for an hour of life-draining torture that for some reason makes Sam look happy and perked up, but leaves Dean with half the energy and a crushed self-confidence. Then it's time to eat a second breakfast and drop Sam off at school. Then he devotes his off-time hours to filming, which is great, because he can combine it with other activities such as working on Gabe’s car, eating, fixing stuff, cleaning, whatever. He reads and answers comments, makes phone calls, books appointments, makes deals, whatever he can fit into those precious hours.</p>
<p>It’s great that his friends are involved now. They can usually swing an hour here and there during the day for filming. Andy has a drone and Ennis a GoPro they let him borrow. Lisa and Brady gave him a high-end camera, and he’s acquired some better sound equipment. Andy might be the biggest bore ever, but he’s a great cameraman.</p>
<p>Then it’s back to school, eat, haul Sam to the library to study. While they’re there Dean reads law books, books about business management, books about media, and filming. Anything that helps him with his channel. He hadn’t planned for things to get this big. His dream had been to make videos to let him remain in the lives of his old friends, not become YouTube famous. But honestly? He’s loving the hell out of it.</p>
<p>Some days Sam comes along home with him, and days Sam has therapy they don’t study because Sam’s too drained. It doesn’t matter because Sam’s up to speed again. Then in the evenings, there’s work, band practice, video editing, being social, perhaps get treated to a date with Michael. The weekends are spectacular in that department. Fridays and Saturdays Dean will come home to Mike sleeping in his bed. He lives for those moments.</p>
<p>This week is different. Dean doesn’t have to work all week because of some bullshit Halloween drive the bar is doing. That’s fine. Tomorrow it’s Halloween and Dean will play with the band at Pub Anchor for the first time. Gabe’s made them costumes. Angel-wings and glowing halos for him and his brothers. Nick’s halo flickers every couple of seconds and his wings are mottled red. Since there’s no angel named Dean, Dean will be Demon-Dean, dressed all in black with horns and red bat wings. He looks awesome in it. On Friday Sam and all his friends will be at a delayed Halloween party Ennis is throwing. Mike’s gonna be busy with something work-related, and Nick, Steve, and Dean are set to visit a gay club.</p>
<p>Dean’s excited for both those things. He’s never been this much of a homebody as he is now. He likes to go out, grab a few beers and see new people. He’s perfectly fine just hanging out with the same old gang, but it’s nice to get some change of scenery. There’s just not enough time to do everything Dean wants.</p>
<p>The movie on the TV barely holds his attention. It’s a low-budget action with bad acting and unrealistic fight scenes. Keeping his attention on it would be hard enough as it is with Nick’s arm resting across his chest. They’re not <em>doing</em> anything. Technically, it shouldn’t be any more distracting than Steve’s hand hooked around his shin to keep Dean’s leg from sliding off anytime Steve leans forward to grab or put down his beer.</p>
<p>Technically.</p>
<p>Dean looks up at Nick. “What’s your stance on threesomes?”</p>
<p>Nick’s hand tightens possessively on Dean’s chest. “No. Nobody touches what’s mine.”</p>
<p>Steve sniggers and gives them an amused look. He’s in a good mood today.</p>
<p>Nick purses his lips and relaxes his hand again. “With another guy or girl? Are we talking about a one-off hookup, or one of those complicated polyamorous relationships? It’s a hard question, darlin’. All I know is that if I find my partner in bed with someone else and they beckon me to join, fists are gonna fly.”</p>
<p>“You never had one?” Steve asks.</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head. “Been on the verge to, a couple of times. But I’ve always fucked it up. And you can't just suggest it to a girlfriend. You do that, she's going to think you've tired of her and just want to fuck around. If you suggest another guy and she realizes you're not just talking about spit-roasting or tag-teaming her, she'll be grossed out and call you a closeted fag."</p>
<p>Steve and Dean snigger at his perturbed tone. "Bro, seems like you're talking from experience."</p>
<p>Nick hums. "I'm not exactly the master of tact." He looks down at Dean. "If I can offer you one piece of advice I can't seem to follow, <em>don't</em> date biphobes."</p>
<p>"Duly noted," Dean sniggers. "How about you, Steve? What's your stance on threesomes?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. The idea of having one is hot. But I don't think it's for me. Not in reality. I like the fantasy, but I’d like to keep track on whose hand is whose, if you know what I mean?” Steve answers.</p>
<p>“Nooo,” Dean protests. “That’s the best part. Imagine losing track of whose hand is currently where. That would be the best,” he says wistfully. “I get that it probably wouldn’t be that way even if I managed to score a threesome. But what can I say? I like being petted,” he jokes.</p>
<p>“Is that so…?” Nick purrs and lifts a hand to start stroking Dean over the head, the fingers on his other hand starting to move, caressing Dean’s chest.</p>
<p>Dean grins up at him with a silly little giggle he didn’t mean to let out. “Yeah…” Fuck these stupid butterflies suddenly going rampant inside of him.</p>
<p>“You just never stop, do you?” Steve says. Dean looks at him expecting that annoyed scowl he’ll give them for no apparent reason at all. (At least no reason Dean’s willing to acknowledge.) But Steve’s amused. Steve moves his hand from Dean’s shin to his thigh. “Don’t get any ideas,” he says when Dean smiles at him. “I ain’t joining in your games. But if a little petting makes you happy…” he adds and looks back at the TV.</p>
<p>It’s innocent enough, but it gets anxiety crawling. “We’re not fucking. You get that, right?” Dean feels compelled to say.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure. I’m <em>that</em> stupid,” Steve chuckles.</p>
<p>Worried, Dean looks up at Nick, wondering if he’s going to say something. But Nick’s just smirking down at him with amusement in his blue eyes. It sets free another batch of butterflies.</p>
<p>
  <em>If I argue too much, it’ll just sound like I’m guilty, right?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Besides, pushing the matter might get one of them to withdraw and how often do I get to be casually cuddled by two people?</em>
</p>
<p>So Dean says nothing…</p>
<hr/>
<p>On Halloween Dean gets to see Mike have a freakout for the first time. They’re in the back room at Pub Anchor, preparing for their gig. Talking Mike through a panic attack and then fixing his makeup to calm him down further, it’s the first time Dean can see himself as actually bringing anything of value to Mike’s life. Mike’s nerves only last until he’s sung the first line of the song and performing transforms him into a boss-ass bitch with confidence that lasts all through the night. And when they get home to Mikey’s and Dean wants Mike to keep his angel wings and halo on while they fuck? Mike agrees and Dean’s having goddamned revelations as Mike roleplays an Archangel overtaking Dean’s lowly demon.</p>
<p>Too bad Mike’s too busy with work or whatever to ride the wave of how in love Dean feels in the days that follow.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Steve stops dead and stares at the unassuming door with the faint bass beat coming muffled through it. “Guys… are you sure this is a good idea?”</p>
<p>Dean, who’s been trying not skip ahead like an excited kid on a science adventure, turns on his heel to almost smack right into Steve. “No no no, you don’t get to cop out now! I’ve never been to a gay club.”</p>
<p>Nick smirks and throws an arm around Steve’s neck. “Don’t worry, darlin’. If you’re uncomfortable you can just have a drink or dance with us. We’re not leaving without you unless you find someone you want to go home with, okay?”</p>
<p>“How would that even happen? I don’t know the first thing about flirting with guys. I’ve been so deep in the closet not even Sam noticed when I was perving on him,” Steve complains and digs his heels in.</p>
<p>“Just checking a guy out isn’t perving,” Nick says. “Take it from someone who’s got ‘perving’ perfectly down. Now let’s go. You won’t have to do any flirting. Guys are needy and blunt. All you need to do is exist in their line of sight.” He pulls Steve forward by the neck and gets them walking again.</p>
<p>Steve makes a face. “That just sounds disturbing. Am I gonna have to deal with creeps the way Annie and Lisa have to?”</p>
<p>“Most likely,” Nick agrees amicably. “That’s the price you pay for being hot.” He pushes Steve towards the door and then it’s time to show their IDs to the bouncer, enter, pay the entrance fee in the wardrobe then they’re in.</p>
<p>Dean’s excitedly looking around. Aside from the dancing men in cages hanging over the dance floor, it looks like any other place Dean’s been to. Well, except for the overwhelmingly male clientele. And the pride flags on the walls. But otherwise, there’s a dance floor, lots of neon lights, tables to sit, and a long bar.</p>
<p>“Are the caged dancers really necessary?” Steve says skeptically.</p>
<p>“Fuck yeah, they are,” Dean enthuses. “I wonder what they get paid? I could do that.”</p>
<p>“Seriously? Bro, they’re wearing nothing but combat boots and underwear for fuck sake.”</p>
<p>“So? They’re high up enough that people can’t touch them without their say-so. I don’t mind the nudity, but I could never be a regular stripper because of the entitled groping,” Dean says, giving a smile or a wink to every guy he gets eye contact with.</p>
<p>Nick reaches out and hooks an arm around Dean’s neck to tug him close. “Will you stop that? Someone will haul your ass to the restrooms before we’ve even reached the bar.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so <em>that’s</em> why they took an entrance fee,” Dean jokes. “You don’t even have to buy a drink to get laid.”</p>
<p>“You have no shame. How are you so fucking comfortable? You’re as newly out as I am,” Steve complains as Nick herds them both to the bar and orders for all of them.</p>
<p>“So? I can’t imagine flirting with guys is anything different than flirting with girls. And supposedly every guy in here expects guys flirting, so I don’t have to worry about some homophobic asshat throwing punches instead of just saying no.”</p>
<p>“I don’t even know how to flirt with girls. They kinda just happened to me,” Steve says and slides up onto a barstool.</p>
<p>“Hey, just seek eye contact and smile. If their eyes linger and they smile back it’s a green light to move in. Or, hell, since you’re being a prissy princess about it, just give a little nod and let them do the work. Here. Watch this.” Dean looks along the bar. There are a few people dressed up as ‘gay’, if you will, but most look like any other regular guy dressed for a night out. He spots a handsome guy in his early thirties and catches his gaze. When the guy looks at him Dean smiles, biting his lip, and jerks his head in a little nod. The guy smiles back so Dean holds his gaze for a little longer before turning his head towards Steve. “See? Like that. Piece of cake.”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “Fuck sake. I can’t believe Mike lets you off-leash. We should’ve brought him.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be a tattle-tale. Besides, we’re not actually a couple. I’ve told him that a million times by now.”</p>
<p>Steve chuckles. “I think it’s more a matter of Nick not wanting anyone touching what’s <em>his</em>, since you clearly have no shame about cheating.”</p>
<p>They get their drinks―some colorful cocktails Dean’s never had before but smells pleasantly citrusy―and Dean protests. “Hey, I’m not cheating. First of all, there’s nothing going on between Nick and me. Secondly, this ain’t a date, okay? If it was, I wouldn’t even look at the most beautiful girl plopping down on my lap begging for my attention. You go on a date with someone you focus on them. Period.”</p>
<p>“I bet you’d be a lovely date,” the strange voice coming from Dean’s side has him turning around to see that the handsome guy he’d nodded to is standing there smiling at him.</p>
<p>Dean turns to face him fully putting on his most charming smile, leaning one elbow on the bar. “Yes, Sir, you bet I am.” Behind him, Nick makes a dissatisfied noise.</p>
<p>“I’m Jacob,” the man says and offers his hand.</p>
<p>“Dean.” Dean shakes the man’s hand, then he says, “Hey, Jacob, listen. Tonight I’ve promised to wingman so I’m kinda busy. But if you are interested in a date, you can give me your phone number and I’ll be in touch, okay?”</p>
<p>Jacob pulls his wallet out of his pocket and takes a business card out of it. He smirks lopsidedly with eyes narrowed flirtily when he hands it over. “Looking forward to it,” he says before backing off and walking away with a wink over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Dean turns back to his companions grinning. “See how easy that was?” he says to Steve who’s looking at him like he just pulled some kind of magic trick.</p>
<p>Nick’s looking like a restrained thundercloud. He grabs Dean by the shoulders and pulls him to stand in front of him, adjusting Dean’s drink to be in front of him beside Nick’s drink, then putting an arm on the bar counter boxing Dean in on the direction facing away from Steve. It firmly discourages anyone from approaching and Dean thrills at it but pretends he doesn’t notice.</p>
<p>“Now you try,” Dean says to Steve. “Try get their numbers because anything that goes down here will definitely be all about sex.”</p>
<p>“Bro, just, just, let me chill for a moment, a’ight?”</p>
<p>“Alright. Don’t worry, if you don’t find someone I’ll take you out on a da―” Dean says and flips Jacob’s business card over to read it, “―<em>Holy fuck</em>. The dude’s a lawyer. <em>Way</em> out of my league.”</p>
<p>Nick snorts and Steve sniggers. “The fuck he is, bro.”</p>
<p>Nick leans closer and talks with his head bent so Dean can feel his breath against his neck. “Listen to Babygay, darlin’. Don’t measure yourself against their resumés, they’re not looking for an employee, they’re looking for a companion. And you’re the best companion a man can ask for.”</p>
<p>Dean shivers then grins to cover it up. “Yeah? You think I can collect a whole set then?” he jokes and holds up the business card. “Lawyer, doctor, rocket scientist―”</p>
<p>Nick pushes away from the bar to cover his face with his hands, then pulls them down slowly with wide, frustrated eyes. “I fucking hate you,” he states.</p>
<p>Dean cackles and Steve laughs along, relaxing.</p>
<p>Dean twists around to hook a finger in Nick’s belt and pull him in. “Nah, you don’t. You know you love me,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Nick’s lips compress into a frustrated line, he shakes his head and then nods, reaching out behind Dean to grab his drink and empty it in three large swallows.</p>
<p>“You know, construction engineer isn’t half bad either,” Dean purrs and drags a finger playfully along Nick’s collar.</p>
<p>“Fuck sake,” Nick mutters and grabs Dean by the hips to spin him around to face the bar again, making both Dean and Steve snigger. Nick looks at Steve. “Is he in heat or just a teasing little shit? I can’t tell.”</p>
<p>“Constantly both around you, I think,” Steve sniggers.</p>
<p>Dean giggles and goes for his drink to hide his stupid cheeks heating up.</p>
<p>“Oh my~. You work out, don’t you?” someone says beside Steve, drawing Dean’s attention. A cute guy around their age is touching Steve’s arm with an admiring smile. The guy is lean, with silver pants, a black fishnet shirt, neon choker, perfectly coiffed hair, and more makeup than a YouTuber doing makeup tutorials. He’s exactly the kind of ‘fairy’ Steve said he wasn’t interested in. Dean has to bite his lip not to laugh at Steve’s puzzled smile.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Steve answers confusedly.</p>
<p>“Mm-mh-mmh,” the guy purrs. “You’re a real snack. Are you here with your boyfriend?”</p>
<p>“N-no. I’m single,” Steve answers with a small frown.</p>
<p>“Is that so… Hi, I’m Liam. Nice to meet you,” the guy says and gives Steve’s upper arm a little squeeze.</p>
<p>Steve hesitates for a beat, then says. “Steve. Look, bro, I’m fresh out of the closet and internalized homophobia is a thing. These fuckers need to smack my head every time I call myself a dirty fag. You’re fucking cute, alright, but the whole valley girl meets disco ball ain’t flying for me. And I’ll be straight with you. I ain’t here for a fuck, I’m looking for someone to date, and I can’t date a pride parade. I’m sorry, but I just ain’t there yet.”</p>
<p>Liam looks thoughtful, scrutinizing Steve for a beat. “But you think I’m cute?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but―”</p>
<p>“I don’t always look like this,” Liam interrupts and bites his lip, looking as if he’s holding his breath waiting for Steve’s reaction.</p>
<p>Steve’s face does complicated things, eyebrows and lips twitching as if he can’t decide whether to frown or smile. Finally his lips settle on a lopsided smile. “Tell you what, Liam. If you can drop the makeup and dress in a way that wouldn’t make my dad shoot you on sight, you can give me your number and I’ll take you out someday.”</p>
<p>“Sounds fair,” Liam answers.</p>
<p>When Liam’s gone, Steve’s left staring at Liam’s phone number in his phone, trying to withhold a smile.</p>
<p>“You gonna call him?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course. Why else would I ask for his number?”</p>
<p>“I dunno, ego-boost scrapbooking?” Dean suggests, making Nick snigger.</p>
<p>“Nah, bro. I ain’t interested in collecting phone numbers just for the sake of it. He <em>was</em> cute. Underneath all that bullshit he was wearing. And the fuck do I know? I might end up liking him? Ryan’s very different from me and I like him.”</p>
<p>“Alright. Let me remain skeptical. Now you try to reel in a guy that’s <em>actually</em> your type,” Dean encourages.</p>
<p>Steve pockets his phone, drinks down most of his drink, then looks around. Dean sees him hone in on someone, smile, and do that little head jerk nod Dean had shown him.</p>
<p>“Atta boy,” Dean encourages even if he can’t see who Steve honed in on. “And don’t worry if it doesn’t work. Then you just pick out someone else.”</p>
<p>Steve looks at Dean. “With my luck, I’m gonna keep attracting disco ball twinks all evening. If that wasn’t a one-off, that is.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t,” Nick says, gaze tracking something beyond Steve. Dean follows his gaze to spot a tall, fit, black guy coming their way, eyes locked on Steve.</p>
<p>Steve turns to see what they’re looking at and yelps a small, “It worked?”</p>
<p>The next moment the black guy slides in beside him with a slick smile, leaning one elbow on the bar. “Hey, Baby. I couldn’t help to notice your liquid level is running a bit low,” he says and taps the bar just by Steve’s near-empty glass. “Can I buy you a drink?”</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” Steve mutters, catches himself and smiles. “I mean, yeah. Sure, bro.”</p>
<p>“Excellent,” the guy says and flashes another smile with perfect fucking teeth, then flags down the bartender to order. “I’ve seen you before. You work out at Planet Fitness, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But I can’t remember seeing you there and fuck knows I would’ve remembered you.”</p>
<p>The guy chuckles and bends his neck, too smooth to actually be flustered but cute nonetheless. He looks up. “Thank you. You always leave about the same time as I park my car to start my shift.”</p>
<p>“Your shift?”</p>
<p>“I’m a PT, Baby,” the guy says.</p>
<p>Nick leans in to whisper in Dean’s ear. “I’m pretty sure I just heard Steve’s panties drop,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Dean hides a snigger and turns around to whisper back. “Man, Steve’s got a type. Does this guy look a lot like Ennis, or am I just imagining it?”</p>
<p>“No, I see it too. Let’s hope for Steve’s sake that the dreamboat’s gonna float this time,” Nick whispers back.</p>
<p>It sure looks like it. An hour and several drinks later Treyvon the personal trainer and Steve are deeply engrossed in conversation. Treyvon is the type of slick guy that knows he’s hot, but he acts as if he thinks Steve knows he’s equally hot and therefore needs to be continuously enticed. In reality, it’s more like Steve’s shit at flirting so it comes off like he’s doing a push-pull. Treyvon keeps calling Steve ‘Baby’ and Steve gets the strangest smile anytime he does. Dean can’t figure out if it’s because he loves it, hates it, or is just confused by it. Then Treyvon asks Steve to dance and fuck knows Steve has no problem conveying his interest while on the dance floor.</p>
<p>Dean’s tipsy, and giddy with Steve’s apparent success.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had a whole bunch I wanted to say about Dean in particular in this chapter, but I realized it's better talked about in a later chapter when what I wanted to talk about is talked about in the chapter. So, you know, just enjoy the ride until then. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. DEAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Something happens at the gay club that makes it very hard for Dean and Nick to pretend nothing's going on...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warnings:</b><br/>Sexual assault attempt<br/>Angst<br/>deceit (cheating, kinda)<br/>abuse-related behavior</p><p>Okay, folks, you knew it was coming.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“Man, look at him go!” Dean enthuses when the first kiss comes. Steve simply pulls Treyvon in and kisses him like he had the right and, <em>bam</em>, their dancing goes from sexy dancing to dirty dancing in an instance.</p><p>Nick’s head is rested on Dean’s shoulder, his arms loosely looped around Dean’s waist, his body warm against Dean’s back. He’s sitting on a barstool and Dean’s leaning back against him. They’ve had this position for a while. Nick might initially have boxed in Dean to keep Dean from finishing a business card collection for his non-existent black book, but anytime Nick strays too far away from Dean, some twink will inevitably approach Nick and call him ‘daddy’.</p><p>It’s fucking hilarious.</p><p>Nick’s reaction to being called daddy is visceral disgust. ‘It’s not funny, Dean! My mind goes straight to incest. I hate when they call me daddy when I fuck them.’ Which is even funnier because it implies that Nick takes them home and fucks them <em>despite</em> them calling him daddy. ‘If I’m horny, yes. Now will you <em>stop</em> laughing!’</p><p>Yeah, so that ended them up like this, snuggled close watching Steve reel in his catch, all while Nick kept the drinks coming.</p><p>“Mmh,” Nick hums into Dean’s neck, making the little hairs there stand up. “Our little Babygay all grown up and out there getting the D.”</p><p>“You think they’ll go home together?” Dean asks.</p><p>“You doubt they will?” Nick counters with an amused lilt to his voice.</p><p>Dean chuckles. “Yeah, okay. Good point.”</p><p>Nick lets go of him and taps his hip. “Get off. I need to take a leak,” he announces.</p><p>Dean, unwillingly, steps away from him. “Alright. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t and don’t be too long or I might consider finishing my business card collection,” he jokes.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Nick says and sticks his tongue out at Dean and starts walking towards the restrooms.</p><p>“Anytime, sweet cheeks,” Dean counters, then laughs when Nick gives him the middle finger over his shoulder.</p><p>Left alone, Dean considers what to do. He could go up and dance. He loves to dance. Always has, always will. But he also knows that’ll attract attention. He doesn’t want Nick to come back to find someone else grinding in his place. No. Better stay here and wait for Nick.</p><p>Part of him is tempted to follow Nick to the restrooms and corner him the same way Nick had done to him that night at the Anchor. That part of his mind quickly rollercoasters straight down to hell so Dean shies away from it. Better to just pretend the giddiness inside is solely caused by alcohol and Steve’s romantic success.</p><p>He drinks the last dredge of his drink and goes back to looking at the dance floor. By now Steve and Treyvon are dancing so filthily it’s like getting a free peep show.</p><p>“Hey, handsome. I bought you a drink,” someone says and pushes a drink in front of him.</p><p>Dean turns his head to see a sympathetic-looking man in his early forties smiling a cutesy smile at him with a far too sober focus in his eyes. He’s got manicured nails, a few cuts on his hands, an expensive watch, white tan lines from rings he isn’t wearing, neat, expensive-looking jeans, and a too-large beer-pouch hoodie.</p><p>Dean’s alarms instantly go off. He tries to remember if they’d passed a metal detector on the way in or not. They could’ve, since he’s currently unarmed. But no, he can’t remember seeing any. “Thanks, but no thanks, buddy,” he says with a polite smile and slides the drink back, trying to discreetly look around to see if there’s someone else fishy around. If he was gonna roofie a heavy guy like himself, he wouldn’t be working alone. But he can’t spot anyone. The loose hoodie that doesn’t match the price range or style of the rest of the man makes him nervous. One could easily hide a gun underneath.</p><p>“Don’t be rude, sweetheart. I saw you finish your drink,” the man says and moves closer, smiling disarmingly with warm eyes. Dean’s internal Kill Bill sirens are blasting Defcon 3. He’s afraid he’ll provoke the man if he’s too brusque. That’s fine if the man’s unarmed. But if he isn’t?</p><p>Dean chuckles. “Yeah, that was the point. I’ve had enough already tonight. But thanks. I’m sure someone else will appreciate getting that drink in my stead,” he declines with another polite smile.</p><p>The man slides a hand up Dean’s back, following when Dean arches away from the touch. “Ready to leave already? I was thinking you and I could have some fun.” The facial expression and tone are amicable enough, not matching the leery touch at all. A+ for acting.</p><p>“Thanks, but no thanks. Please stop touching me,” Dean demands and grabs the guy’s arm to dislodge him.</p><p>It has the opposite effect. Suddenly he has the guy all up in his business, trapping him against the bar, pushing their crotches together with one hand firmly gripping Dean’s ass. “I know you like it, sweetheart. It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll make it good for you too.”</p><p>Dean’s nearly at a fully-fledged panic. It’s no different than when a creepy PTA-mom tries to give you a massage, or shoves their hand down your pants at the dinner table during a buddy’s birthday party. It’s one thing in private. Dean can make a scene in private, but in public? He’s nowhere near as cocky as he’d have anyone believe in situations like these. His head is running through his options. If he throws a punch it’ll look like he’s the asshole starting a fight and Steve would undoubtedly notice the commotion and come charging like the pitbull he is. They’ll get thrown out on their asses and Dean will have ruined everything. And <em>if</em> the guy has a gun? “I’ve got a boyfriend.”</p><p>“He doesn’t have to know.”</p><p>“Yes, he will. Because I will <em>tell</em> him. Will you <em>please</em> get off me before he gets back,” Dean says and manages to wriggle himself out of the hold with his heart jackhammering in his chest.</p><p>The man follows along, but Dean’s gripped by the upper arm and pulled to the side, he turns his head thinking it must be the guy’s companion, but it’s Nick.</p><p>Nick’s lips are on his before he has a chance to get his ducks in a row. Dean opens his mouth to say something but Nick takes it as a sign to deepen the kiss, and, <em>oh fuck</em>―</p><p>Nick pulls back with spit slicked lips and purrs, “Hey, darlin’. Who’s our new friend?” and eyes the stranger with a dangerous smirk.</p><p>“Not a friend. Just a creep who won’t take no for an answer,” Dean answers, reeling from conflicting feelings.</p><p>“Oh <em>reeeally</em>?” Nick purrs, eyes lighting up with glee and grin widening at the stranger.</p><p>The guy’s eyes widen in fear. He grabs the drink he’d come with and backs away. “That’s a lie. He came on to <em>me</em>. I was doing him a favor. He’s too fucking ugly to get something otherwise,” he says then turns tail and flees.</p><p>Nick’s face darkens, the predatory grin dropping replaced by an angry line. He moves as if to follow but Dean grabs him to stop him. “No. Wait.” Dean holds onto him and flags down the bartender. “That guy tried to give me a drink I think was roofied. When I refused he started groping me and wouldn’t take a no. I think he’s got a gun in the back of his waistline,” he says and points out the retreating man. Then he turns to Nick and yanks him in to hug him. He wouldn’t call it clinging. That would be humiliating. “Man, you’ve got some great timing.”</p><p>Nick’s tense anger fades and he hugs Dean back. “You know that was bullshit. You’re not ugly.”</p><p>Dean laughs with a desperate edge as the relief hits him. “Dude. I’ve been called pretty and hot since I hit puberty. Ain’t listening to some jackass that can’t take a no.”</p><p>“Good.” Nick lets go of him to cup his cheeks instead, tilting his head up to meet Nick’s gaze. “You are, darling. So very beautiful.” Suddenly bashful, Dean tries to avert his face down. But Nick won’t let him, keeping him in place. Dean’s belly flutters, flip-flops like a stranded fish, heart hammering again but not for fear this time. He wets his lips and looks at Nick’s, tilting his head ever so slightly. Nick’s lips part, pink sliver of his tongue darting out wet them. That’s enough for Dean to push forward to steal another kiss, one he can enjoy this time.</p><p>For the second time in a few minutes, Dean finds himself pinned against the bar. Only this time, he’s willing and reeling, hands going wherever he can reach, yielding to anything Nick’s mouth and hands ask from him. Nick's not the shy, careful type. His kisses are wet and hungry. His hands work-rough and wide, finding their way inside Dean's shirt to burn against skin. He tastes of alcohol and heady greed.</p><p>It's hard to tell for how long they've been at it, minutes at least, when Nick bends his head away to the side with an emphatic, "<em>Fuck!</em>"</p><p>Dean drops his hands from Nick's back, pinning them behind his own ass against the bar not to be tempted to keep pawing, and leans his forehead against Nick's shoulder, panting.</p><p>"I spent a solid three minutes in the restroom talking myself out of doing exactly this,” Nick says between rough breaths. “But then I come out and see some asshole with his hands all over what’s mine, and we can’t have that, now can we?”</p><p>“No. Sorry.”</p><p>“Sorry?” Nick chuckles. “Darlin’, I didn’t even bother to assess the situation first. If I had, I would’ve high-fived the guy’s head with a barstool by way of greeting. This was by far the more pleasant alternative, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>“Yeah… And I’d just told him I was waiting for my boyfriend, so your timing was impeccable,” Dean says with a regretful chuckle.</p><p>“Ah. Well, that’s a great excuse. This was just a ruse, that’s all,” Nick says and takes a step away. “And we should stop at that, shouldn’t we?”</p><p>Dean looks up. Nick’s looking at him with intense eyes, biting his lip. “Yeah…” Dean agrees regretfully.</p><p>Nick makes a face of displeasure. “Right. That’s the right thing to do. So. What do you want to do now?”</p><p>“You wanna dance? I kinda want to get out of here, but we promised Steve to stick around.”</p><p>Nick grins. “Dance? How lovely. That won’t escalate the situation <em>at all</em>,” he says sarcastically, then gestures at the dance floor. “Lead the way, darling wife.”</p><p>Dean loves to dance. He’s loved it since he was a kid, moonwalking in front of a mirror to Michael Jackson, miming to Madonna, mimicking Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears. Moving his hips to Shakira’s Whenever, Wherever. Spellbound watching So You Think You Can Dance trying to duplicate moves. Cheerleading, square-dancing in the south, getting taught the basics of breakdancing in the projects in Detroit. He’s not phenomenal since he doesn’t do it regularly enough, but he knows he draws attention when he hands himself over to the music. Here’s no different. Within minutes there are two guys trying to dance with him.</p><p>Nick isn’t having it and pulls him close. He keeps a hand on Dean’s hip and Dean puts an arm on his shoulder, letting him lead. Nick isn’t a technical dancer but he’s got the rhythm, and, just like Shakira, his hips don’t lie. Dean rides his leg, looking up at Nick’s hooded gaze. The ever-shifting lighting cast pink, red, white, and blue highlights along Nick’s cheekbones, alternating by catching in his eyes and hiding them in dark hollows. Dean wants and wishes for more. But Nick had shown it was off the table when he turned his head away by the bar.</p><p>That is, until Nick’s hand slides to the small of his back to pull him into a perfect grind and leans in to kiss him. Then they’re back to making out. But artsy this time. You know, to beat with the music. He’s not sure how he’ll manage to twist that into an excuse, but he’ll figure it out.</p><p>Dean lets the world fall back out of his consciousness and gives himself over to trading kisses and the steady grind, bass pumping hypnotically through the floor, their hips moving on every beat. Time stretches into one, long infinite moment as one song after another trade off with no gap between.</p><p>“Yo, guys!” Steve throws his arms around their shoulders.</p><p>Dean would’ve jumped away with his heart jumping guiltily, but Nick’s hand tighten on his back.</p><p>Nick smirks nonchalantly at Steve. “Yes?” he says.</p><p>“Trey suggested he and I go work out tomorrow. He said he lives not far from here and it would be a waste of time for me to go home in between,” Steve says with a cocky grin. “Just checking in with you if it’s okay that I ditch you?”</p><p>Dean sniggers. “Hell yeah! Somebody’s getting railed tonight,” he says and waggles his eyebrows at Steve.</p><p>“Yeah? Me too,” Steve counters with a smirk and pulls away with a wink.</p><p>Nick laughs and Dean hopes the strobe lights hide his blush.</p><p>“Boy, you walked right into that one,” Nick teases with a grin.</p><p>“Shaddap,” Dean flusters with a stupid giggle.</p><p>“Now that our Babygay is taking flight on his own, you want to stick around dancing or you ready to go home?”</p><p>“Yeah, no, I’m ready to go home.”</p><p>Somehow they manage to keep their hands off each other in the cab, talking, laughing, not mentioning what they’d done in the club. Dean’s mind is occupied making excuses for himself. They’d just pretended to be boyfriends, right? To prevent more creeps from making a move. Yeah, that’s it. It doesn’t count.</p><p>“You know what I just realized?” Dean says when he waits for Nick to unlock the door. “We won’t have a whiny baby complaining if we blast music, telling us to use headphones, claiming the night is for sleeping.”</p><p>Nick sniggers. “He is a bit over-sensitive to sound, isn’t he? Why don’t you go hook your phone to the speakers to celebrate having a babysitter,” he suggests and holds the door open for Dean.</p><p>Giggling, Dean stumbles past him, yelping at a slap on his ass as he passes. “Fuck off,” he laughs and makes his way into the living room, switching on the sound system. He connects the USB cord, opens Spotify, and hits play without looking. The music starts in the middle of his last played song.</p><p>“<em>...With the light in our eyes, it's hard to see<br/>
I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be<br/>
I want you to come, walk this world with me.</em>”</p><p>His heart jumps nervously. It’s Nick’s song. He’s been listening to it on repeat for too fucking long.</p><p>Nick grabs him by the wrists and spins him around, then backs him against the wall, holding his arms up over his head with a dangerous smirk. Dean pulls experimentally and Nick’s hands tighten like vices. Nick’s hooded, hungry eyes are cast in shadow. “I’m not stopping unless I hear a no, darling,” he purrs.</p><p>Dean swallows and licks his lips, a nervous giggle escaping unwillingly. “Wow. Do you hear that? Thunderous silence,” he jokes, nearly trembling with anticipation.</p><p>Nick’s smirk grows to a hungry leer. “Perfect.”</p><p>
  <em>I'm not touched, but I'm aching to be…</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>“...No. He’s still sleeping. ….I’m not gonna wake him up, jackass! The guy sleeps a maximum of 4 hours a night. If he remains asleep until 4 PM I’ll cork up the champagne.”</p><p>Dean wakes up slowly, hearing Nick talk next to him, rough fingers softly tracing a circular caress on his shoulder.</p><p>Nick chuckles. “Oh, it went splendidly. Babygay found a PT to smash him. ...Yes, yes, I know. But just because he wants someone to get to know doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to have sex. And they’re working out together today. You should see the guy. He looks like Ennis if Ennis had an upgrade. You’d hate him.” He laughs. “No, because he’s one of those slick bastards that know how fucking hot they are. It’s funny, because Steve fucking sucks at flirting, but that makes him great at negging and this guy’s susceptible to it.”</p><p>Dean smiles. It <em>is</em> funny. Not that Steve deliberately set out to insult Treyvon, but for instance, when Treyvon had suggested Steve book an appointment with him (for free), Steve had looked at him with an amused-skeptical smirk and said that he’s been working out since he found his dad’s dumbbells in the closet as a kid and there’s nothing Treyvon could possibly teach him. Nevermind that Treyvon has a Master’s degree in kinesiology. Comments like that had Treyvon gagging for Steve’s approval.</p><p>Dean flips over and opens his eyes. Nick’s sitting propped up with pillows beside him, talking on the phone, he smiles as winks at Dean, his free hand going to caress Dean’s chest gently while he talks.</p><p>“You coming over today?... Mh. You’ll have to ask him when he wakes up. …” Nick pulls down the blanket to reveal Dean’s torso fully. His fingers trail over softly aching bruises and blemishes, wonderful mementos of last night’s exercises. “Yes, well, we were rather drunk… We even got into an altercation.” He laughs and shakes his head, fitting his hand over a bruise above Dean’s hip where he’d gripped hard yesterday. “Not with each other, jackass, with a stranger. Some creep who wouldn’t take a no. I didn’t see how it got started. I came from the restrooms to see a handsome man with his hands all over your boy. My first thought was that Dean was straying because we were dumb-drunk, but that wasn’t the case.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, shit. He’s talking to Mikey.</em>
</p><p>Dean gives Nick his full attention, listening to what lies he’s feeding his brother.</p><p>Nick gives him another wink. “Yes… No, he was trying to be polite about it not to get us thrown out. We handled it, but he’s got a set of bruises to show for it when the guy went grabby hands on him.” He chuckles at whatever Mike says, then gets that expression that means he’s about to be a little shit. “Mhh. I could go to his room and kiss them all better for you if you’re so worried,” he purrs then bursts out laughing at Mike’s response. “Aww, you never let me have any fun. And may I remind you that he <em>isn’t</em> your boyfriend, no matter how much you would like him to be. If you’d just listen to the advice I give you―” He scowls at being interrupted and sputters. “<em>No</em>. It wouldn’t be disrespectful. Fuck you, I give excellent advice.”</p><p>Some people are excellent liars which Nick’s currently proving, handing Dean an excuse for the bruises Nick left on his body. It’s a relief not to have to be the one coming up with bullshit for once.</p><p>“Alright. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye,” Nick says and hangs up, double-checks that the call disconnected, and throws the phone on the bed beside him.</p><p>“You always tell your brother you love him on the phone?” Dean asks.</p><p>“Yes? You don’t?” Nick answers and crawls down to lie on his side beside Dean, pulling him closer with an arm around his midriff.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Well, I do. And this shouldn’t happen again,” Nick answers and lifts his hand to trace Dean’s cheekbone and jawline with gentle fingers.</p><p>Anxiety crawls in Dean’s gut. “Yeah, no. No need to tell me twice,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So, um, I guess the cutoff was the wakeup, huh?”</p><p>“The cutoff?”</p><p>Dean waves his hand dismissively. “Nevermind. It’s stupid. Don’t listen to anything I say.”</p><p>“I always listen to what you say, darling. So, please, explain what you mean.”</p><p>Dean’s belly flutters despite the ‘Oh shit I fucked up again’-anxiety. “It’s silly, alright? I’m not really a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type. Even when it comes to one-night stands I make the time I leave the cutoff and give myself the permission to be as affectionate as I like until then. Like, I don’t know the next time I’ll get to feel like, like…” he trails off. ‘<em>like I mean something to somebody.</em> He can’t say it. Can’t admit how addicted he is to intimacy. “And it’s a problem. Even when I warn people ahead of time that I act like a fucking boyfriend and they shouldn’t read into it and just enjoy the ride, they <em>still</em> get ideas.”</p><p>Nick hums in amusement. “I get ideas if someone gives me eye-contact that lasts a second too long so my bar is set far, far lower than that,” he jokes. “And who says the wakeup has to be the cutoff? We have until 2 PM when Steve comes home.”</p><p>“How do you know he’ll be home by then?”</p><p>“I’ve trained you boys well, mon cher. He texted me.”</p><p>“You, uh, you don’t regret it?” Dean asks. Of course Nick regrets what they’ve done. It’s a dumbass question.</p><p>“No,” Nick deadpans, surprising Dean. “I’m guilt-tripping like you wouldn’t believe, darling, but you’re not someone to regret being with. It’s just that I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do this to Mikey again.”</p><p>“<em>Again</em>?”</p><p>“Mhm. He was in love with a married woman named Bela Talbot. Not that he ever got together with her. More like pining from afar. But Mike’s got good taste and I ended up fucking her seven ways to Sunday. Then she moved back to England with her rich, elderly husband. Mike never found out about me and her. But what can I say? I’ve got bad impulse control and she had a penchant for insulting me,” Nick says with a smirk.</p><p>Dean sniggers. “Alright. You gonna keep your mouth shut about us too?”</p><p>“Like it never happened.”</p><p>“Shit, Steve―”</p><p>“Steve thinks we’ve been fucking for months and he hasn’t said anything yet. He won’t talk. Can you imagine him deliberately hurting Sam by ratting? No. He’ll keep the secret as guarded as he kept his own sexuality.”</p><p>“Huh. I guess that explains all the fed-up looks he’s been giving us.”</p><p>“Mhm. So, does our playtime extend to 2 PM? In that case, it’s your turn to top.”</p><p>“I thought you preferred to top?” Dean asks in surprise.</p><p>“I do, but I’m a switch, and you’re a loud reminder of how nice a prostate orgasm is,” Nick smirks.</p><p>Dean giggles. He fucking hates how giggly he’s been lately. Mike’s the worst offender, making him giggle like a school-girl whispering about who knows what with her friends in the back of the bus. “Gotcha. One prostate orgasm coming right up,” he jokes and rolls on top of Nick to kiss him.</p><p>Yesterday Nick brought his full boss-ass-bitch attitude, doing most of the work. On the couch. On the floor. On the stairs. Then on Nick’s bed before they fell asleep. Today he lies back, handing the reins to Dean. Knowing it’s the last time they’re going to be together, Dean takes his time, kissing and caressing his way down, getting to know the strong body underneath him.</p><p>When he’s alternating a slow blowjob for kissing the juncture of Nick’s leg while teasing Nick’s hole with a lubed finger, Nick’s breathy sounds and twitches suddenly turn into giggles. “Fuck me, but you’re a gentle top,” he says, grinning down at Dean.</p><p>“You don’t like it?”</p><p>“Sweet darlin’ love, I’m a fucking whore for a gentle top. I just wasn’t expecting it since you’re such a bratty, demanding, wildcat of a bottom.”</p><p>Dean chuckles. “Yeah, well, there’s a mile-wide gap between what I like to <em>do</em> and what I like to get done to me.”</p><p>“So I see. Please, do go on, darlin’,” Nick smirks.</p><p>These are dangerous waters. Dean knows how royally fucked he is when he’s buried deep inside Nick, framing his shoulders and face with his arms holding him close, looking deep into his eyes with an oddly protective ache in his chest, and Nick, the big, dangerous predator that had set Dean’s alarm bells ringing at first sight, stares back up at him with a wide-eyed, vulnerable gaze. It’s bad. They never should’ve gone down this route.</p><p>Yet they make good use of the remaining time. Naked in front of the mirror Nick points out all the bruises and marks he’s left, explaining how they got there. There’s one long bruise on his back from when Nick fucked him on the staircase. (It’s a bad idea, kids. Don’t do it.) “Here’s where he slammed you against the bar counter…” Nick says and caresses along the bruise. He touches Dean’s wrists. “You got these when he pinned you, and…” He leans in and sucks wetly on Dean’s neck.</p><p>“Fuck you. You’re not leaving a hickey, are you?”</p><p>Nick chuckles and leans away to study his work. “You bet I am. Mikey knows you hate them and wouldn’t allow anyone to leave them. Plus he knows I would never lower myself enough to leave a hickey, so…”</p><p>Dean’s hatred for hickeys stems from how they reveal his wrongdoings. It’s hard to explain away a hickey without leaving any doubt. But since Nick’s already told Mike about the sexual assault attempt… Dean tilts his neck. “Then you better make it a good one.”</p><p>Cooking lunch leads to a food fight and a slow makeout by the counter. A sassy remark gets Dean shoved over the table with his neck in a vice grip and his pants pulled to his knees. Spit isn’t the best lubricant, and Dean will feel that fuck for the rest of the day. It’s worth it for the filthy praise spilling through Nick’s mouth. They shower together, washing their sins off with gentle hands and regretful kisses.</p><p>By the time Steve comes home, the marks on Dean’s body is the only proof of their misdeeds.</p><p>Dean calls Mike faking sleep-rough voice, guilt and anxiety beating a steady rhythm inside of him. Mike wants him to come over. Dean claims to be too hungover to drive, so Mike asks if he’s welcome to stop by instead. “Always, babe. Just get your ass over here.”</p><p>When Mike enters, Nick and Dean sit by the kitchen table listening to Steve talk about Treyvon.</p><p>“Hey, babe,” Dean chirps. His stupid, traitorous heart skips a beat at the sight of Mike, wild curls in a disarray, and a simple band tee over his broad chest. Nick might not have regrets but Dean does.</p><p>Mike stops dead and stares at Dean’s neck.</p><p>Dean claps a hand over the hickey and frowns. “Yeah, no, this ain’t my fault. Some asshole pinned me against the bar and tried to have his way with me when I said no. So if you want to put your own mark over it, go ahead, because I can still feel the slimy asshole all over,” he says with a disgusted shiver.</p><p>Mike smiles and walks up to pop himself down on Dean’s lap, then immediately attaches himself to Dean’s neck, dragging his teeth and tongue over the hickey before he starts sucking.</p><p>Dean giggles. “Babe, if you’re gonna do it that thoroughly we’ll end up doing dirty-bad stuff over the kitchen table and it’ll ruin Babygay’s innocence,” he says and wraps his arms around Mike, tilting his neck so Mike has better access.</p><p>“Yeah, fuck no. Not where we eat,” Steve says. It’s really hard not to look at Nick. Harder still not to giggle incriminatingly. “Was it the guy in the oversized hoodie? I saw you but didn’t catch that it was serious.”</p><p>“Yeah, it was him.”</p><p>“When I went to the bathroom the guards were hauling him outdoors where cops were waiting. You should’ve yelled or something,” Steve says.</p><p>“I didn’t want to make a scene.”</p><p>“Bro.”</p><p>“Oh, come on. If I’d thrown a punch you’d come hauling off the dance floor and I’d have ruined your night. And what good would it do us if we show you a gay club and then get us permanently banned from it?”</p><p>“<em>Bro</em>. Fuck sake. My dick ain’t taking precedence over my bros, okay?”</p><p>Mike straightens up and looks at Steve. “Speaking of. Tell me all about your Ennis 2.0.”</p><p>“Ennis? Oh, fuck,” Steve says with a grimace. “Are they really so alike? Will it be awkward if I introduce them?” he asks and looks between Nick and Dean.</p><p>All three of them laugh at Steve’s pained expression.</p><p>Rule number one if you want to dispel something is to act as if it isn’t there. Awkwardness? Just act as if it isn’t awkward at all. Guilt? Act as if you’re not feeling guilty about something. It doesn’t make the feeling inside you go away, but it stops people from noticing it and convinces them it’s all in their head. Gaslighting is a thing.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Nick says. “I wouldn’t have noticed if Dean hadn’t said Treyvon looked like an upgraded version of Ennis. Are you seeing him again?”</p><p>“Yeah, next week. And tomorrow I’m taking Liam out.”</p><p>Dean and Nick laugh. “<em>Damn.</em> Look at you go! We take you out once and, bam, you turn into a player,” Dean says and holds his hand out to Nick for a low five, getting his palm slapped.</p><p>“Hey, if I promise I’ll call, I’ll call. Besides, I’m curious to see what he looks like underneath that ridiculous costume,” Steve grumps.</p><p>“That’s what we all want, Babygay,” Nick says with a lopsided smirk. “To get a look behind the mask.”</p><p>Dean gives Mike a little squeeze and leans up to steal a kiss. Maybe that’s part of their problem? When Dean lowers his mask, Mike doesn’t listen. And Mike’s always holding up his own.</p>
<hr/><p>“Three days a week really isn’t enough,” Dean muses and caresses Mike’s shoulder. Mike lies snuggled up against him, naked and sweaty, teasing one of Dean’s nipples lazily in a way that will have Dean ready for another go in a few minutes if Mike keeps it up.</p><p>“I work a lot right now, you know that.”</p><p>“And I don’t?” Dean’s tone sounds surprised instead of accusing. He feels both.</p><p>“Only three days a week. My work will wind down a week or two after the party and I’ll have more time,” Mike says and kisses Dean’s chest.</p><p>But Dean got stuck on the first sentence. “You know, I’m monetized now. That makes YouTube a job too,” he points out.</p><p>“Mh. But it’s still just a hobby, isn’t it? You just happen to get paid for it.”</p><p>The bottom drops out of Dean’s stomach. It doesn’t matter how many business cards he’d collect. Lawyer, accountant, doctor, doesn’t matter. He’ll still just be a worthless trailer-trash clown who likes to be on camera. His time will never be as valuable as theirs. <em>He’ll</em> never be as valuable as them. He chuckles. “Dude, what do you think I do during the days? Like, have you watched any of the videos at all? And the editing? That takes time,” he says, trying to sound non-confrontational. Mike should know editing takes time. He’d complained about it earlier when Dean sat down to edit, and Dean, because he’s got priorities, abandoned the work to be with Mike instead.</p><p>“Yes, but it’s not like you’re on a deadline. You can choose when you do it.”</p><p>Dean’s hand stills on Mike’s shoulder. He swallows, trying to tamper down the cold squeezing his heart. “How bout you do a video with me? I’d love to have you on camera with me but if you still refuse to sign the release form you can always man the camera and then help me edit. Do it together, you know?” he suggests. He knows his craft isn’t up to par with the college degree job Mike has, but at least it would show Mike how much time and effort it takes to put out regular videos. It’s hardly like he could argue that he should be taken seriously just because he reads books at the college library every week to get a grip on the business side of things.</p><p>Mike chuckles. “We can do that once my work winds down. And it’s not that important that I sign a paper, is it? Isn’t it enough that I say you can do it? I hate seeing myself on screen but I know you want to publish our gig at the Anchor and it’s unfair to say you can’t just because I’m in it.”</p><p>“Trust me, it’s important.”</p><p>“Okay. I’ll sign it tomorrow,” Mike finally, <em>finally</em> agrees. Dean would fist-pump, except the dismissiveness about the necessity for a contract is another sign that Mike isn’t taking it seriously.</p><p>“Thanks. Hey, you wanna do something on Tuesday?” Dean suggests.</p><p>“Dean,” Mike says and Dean fucking hates that patronizing tone, “I’m working to 8 or even 9 almost every evening right now.”</p><p>Dean bites his tongue not to snipe, ‘So do I’ because babysitting his grown-ass little brother isn’t a real job and doesn’t count. He doubts Sam even needs it anymore, but Dean needs access to the college library or he’s gonna have to pay for the books he needs to read. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”</p><p>Dean lies still, stewing in his lack of self-worth and importance, pretending he’s fine. But, apparently, he’s lying too still.</p><p>Mike lifts his head with a worried frown. “You don’t want to break it off, do you?”</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em> christ, Mikey. I just told you three days isn’t enough and I want to see more of your dumb face. How, <em>how</em> could you get to mean I want to break it off?”</p><p>“I don’t know, you suddenly felt distant. And since you’re so determined not to be my boyfriend―”</p><p>
  <em>Here we go again.</em>
</p><p>Dean interrupts Mike by cupping his cheek, putting his thumb over Mike’s mouth. “Babe, I could marry you and it still wouldn’t change my feelings for you even the tiniest bit.”</p><p>“I would like that,” Mike says seriously.</p><p>Dean startles. To cover it up he sniggers. “In that case, babe, you need to start saving because I want my dress covered in rhinestones and I’ve got a lot of friends to invite,” he jokes.</p><p>Mike smiles. “Will you wear a matching tiara?”</p><p>“You know it, babe,” Dean smirks.</p><p>Mike heaves himself on top of Dean. “You’ll look astounding,” he says and kisses Dean.</p><p>Dean lets himself be distracted, but deep down he’s agonizing over how Mike can plan their wedding and kids and still not make time in his day for Dean.</p>
<hr/><p>“So how are we spending Thanksgiving this year?” Nick asks casually over breakfast one morning. Sam’s sitting beside him holding his hand and guilt always hits Dean as a truck when Sam’s around. It’s partially born out of envy now that he knows what Sam will get when the time comes. And Nick will drop everything to fulfil Sam’s every wish, looking at him with soft and adoring eyes.</p><p>It’s hard to return to normalcy. Not that Nick seems to have any problems doing that. He still gives Dean the customary greeting kisses, still touches him with playful camaraderie, but Dean’s over here pining his ass off. And Sam… well, you can’t <em>not</em> understand how crazy he is about Nick. Dean’s the biggest asshole in the world. It isn’t helping that he’ll never be good enough for Mike and he knows it.</p><p>“We?” Steve asks in surprise.</p><p>“Yeah, we, jackass. What? You don’t expect me to leave my adopted Babygay alone for thanksgiving, do you?”</p><p>“We were totally expecting that,” Dean says. “Don’t you have a family to celebrate with?”</p><p>“Yes, you, dumbass. We’ll be having a family dinner at Chuck’s earlier in the week so everyone can celebrate with their families. The three people I’m the most thankful for this year are sitting right at this table and I’m damn well going to celebrate with you,” Nick snipes annoyedly. “Now you tell me one thing you like about yourself. Right now. Hop hop,” he orders and snaps his fingers demandingly.</p><p>Dean fucking hates when he does this. “I can make people feel good about themselves,” he deadpans. It’s like when teachers threatened to call in the middle of the night for a pop quiz (they never did, but he’s had more than a few teachers threaten to). It’s a weird sort of punishment Nick will spring on them. He looks at Steve, passing the ball over.</p><p>Steve smirks, lifts his shirt, and pats his belly. “Abs of steel, baby,” he says, then they both look at Sam, who’s blinking at them in confusion.</p><p>“Now you, Sammy,” Nick says with a nice and patient voice that makes Dean want to grimace. Oh, Nick had been patient with him and Steve too until they’d gotten used to it. “Tell us something you like about yourself.”</p><p>Sam’s gaping like a fish for a beat. “Um… I dunno.”</p><p>“It can be anything at all. Maybe you think your toes are pretty, or you’ve managed to conquer a goal of yours. It can be as big or small as you want. Just one thing,” Nick coaxes.</p><p>“My toes?” Sam asks with even more confusion and looks down at his feet with wide eyes.</p><p>Dean and Steve snigger.</p><p>Nick rolls his eyes. “It was an example. Don’t get stuck on it, just tell us something you like about yourself.”</p><p>Sam looks up, faintly distressed. “Um… I… I bench 330 pounds?” he says and looks at Nick for confirmation.</p><p>“Motherfucker,” Nick says and gives him a horrified grimace that sets Steve off laughing.</p><p>“That doesn’t count?” Sam asks uncertainly.</p><p>“Hells yeah, it does,” Dean says. “Nick’s just never seen you and Steve get competitive at the gym and thinks of you as a helpless little flower instead of the beefcake you’ve become.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Nick mutters, but reaches out and feels Sam’s bicep as if he just now realized how muscular Sam’s become. Unlike Dean, neither Steve nor Sam try to shirk their workout sessions. This could’ve been a good time to reinforce the whole ‘no means no’ message by putting a spotlight on how strong Sam is, except that would turn Sam’s positive thing into something negative.</p><p>“You better start making up lists in your head, Sammy,” Dean says, “Because that asshole will run these pop quizzes at any time and you can’t answer the same thing twice. So if you get a moment of free time, sit down and think about all the things you like about yourself.”</p><p>Nick’s gaze jumps to Dean with a fascinated little smile. “You do that?”</p><p>“Well yeah. Or I’d never be able to deadpan an answer to questions that hard,” Dean answers. Nick leans back in his chair with a soft, content sound. “Now you, jackass,” Dean demands.</p><p>“I somehow managed to turn my home into a relatively safe space for people I care about,” Nick answers.</p><p>“Uh-uh. Gotta strike the ‘relatively’,” Dean admonishes.</p><p>“Yes, but <em>I</em> still live here, numbskull, so it can never be fully safe,” Nick argues.</p><p>“That’s what makes it safe and home, you moron,” Dean counters.</p><p>The argument could’ve escalated if Steve and Sam hadn’t laughed at them. “What’s this all about?” Sam asks and gestures vaguely between the four of them.</p><p>“It’s a self-worth exercise,” Steve answers with a grin, still looking between Dean and Nick. “When we say something that devaluate ourselves Nick forces us to counter it by having us say something good about ourselves instead. Now both Dean and I thought Nick didn’t consider us important enough to prioritize and that’s what triggered it.”</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> what this is?” Dean sputters.</p><p>At the same time, Nick scoldingly says, “<em>Sssh</em>, don’t tell Dean or it might stop working.”</p><p>“Yeah, bro. You hadn’t figured it out?” Steve answers Dean.</p><p>“No. I thought he just flung it out there as some kind of random punishment.” Dean <em>hates</em> that it makes everyone laugh at him. He lets them have their moment. He’d never noticed the pattern. “Whatever. I invited our uncle for Thanksgiving. I hope you’re chill with that.”</p><p>“Bobby? Bobby’s coming here?” Sam asks delightedly.</p><p>“Yup.” Bringing a Harley Davidson wreck for Dean to restore, but Dean ain’t telling them that. He’s already made a deal with one of the neighbors to use their unused barn for the restoration. In return, he’ll be their call-on handyman and cut their grass for the duration of time he needs the barn. Oh, and he’ll sing and perform on birthdays and parties if he isn’t working.</p><p>“As long as he doesn’t bring your father, I’m cool with it,” Nick says. “In fact, you can invite whoever you want. I just need to know how many we are before we do the grocery shopping.”</p><p>Dean’s been angsting like hell over Thanksgiving. It’s bad enough that he’ll have to lie to Dad about why he isn’t coming ‘home’. But he’d expected to feel abandoned, celebrating only with Sam and Bobby, maybe with Steve too, knowing they were the unwanted leftovers while everyone went home to their families. But somehow, Nick managed to turn that around.</p><p>Guilty, Dean envies Sam even more.</p>
<hr/><p>He feels it the moment Nick enters. The door slamming is the first hint. The second hint is the sound of shoes on the living room floor. Nick didn't take his shoes off. Dean's tense already when Nick comes into the kitchen. Nick's face is dark and closed off.</p><p>"Hi, honey. How was your day?" Dean chirps, heart hammering.</p><p>"Cloudy, with occasional showers," Nick deadpans and leans in for a brief kiss. His lips are tense and there's no touch in the small of Dean's back.</p><p>
  <em>Crap.</em>
</p><p>Dean laughs and straightens out the folds in the kitchen towel as Nick goes to sit down. Dean uses the dishrag to scrub away a tiny speck on the counter and surveys the area for other imperfections. There's a faint fingerprint on the second drawer handle. He cleans it off. One of the jars on the spice rack isn't perfectly aligned with the others. He adjusts it. "Yeah, it was a rather wet day. Had some troubles keeping the camera dry but got some kickass shots when the sun came out in the downpour."</p><p>Nick hums. When Dean throws him a look he sees Nick pull thoughtfully on his lip, one arm over his chest, watching Dean with cold, hooded eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Crap crap crap.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What can I do to lift his mood?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A beer might help.</em>
</p><p>Dean opens the fridge. His stomach drops. They're out of beer. He shouldn't be surprised. Nick doesn't always buy it.</p><p>
  <em>Was it my turn to buy and I forgot?</em>
</p><p>He can't recall being asked but it's one of those things he should keep track of or Shit might go down.</p><p>He quickly pours a glass of whiskey, hoping that will work instead, and puts it in front of Nick. Nick says, "Thanks," flatly, but doesn't touch or even look at the glass.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>"Are you hungry? Food's done in half an hour," Dean asks.</p><p>Nick hums disinterestedly. "Is it stew again?"</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>Stew is awesome food. You can make a great stew out of nearly nothing. It’s possible to make big batches on a low budget and it keeps well in the freezer. One batch could last for days so he wouldn't have to think of cooking at all. But Dad didn't like to eat the same thing several days in a row. Dean's a fuckup who tended to forget that after having eaten the same thing with slight variations for a week.</p><p>Dean looks at the freezer, mentally going over its contents. There's a bag of chicken breasts in it. He could throw together a chicken wok or― no. If a vegetarian would eat it it isn't real meat. Some vegetarians eat chicken and fish. He chuckles. "Of course not. I'll get you something that counts," he says. "I'll be right back."</p><p>He gives Nick a smile and a wink before leaving the kitchen and heading for his car. The closest store is a few minutes away. Small, overpriced, and with slim pickings, but that’s where he heads. He’d said the food would be ready in 30 minutes after all. He can’t change the time frame or Shit may go down.</p><p>Ten minutes later he’s back in the kitchen, pan-searing a steak while preparing a creamy mushroom sauce with a side of sugar snaps. It’ll have to be served with the rice he prepared for the stew. It’s not ideal but he hasn’t got time to boil potatoes.</p><p>Nick’s still sitting there, watching him silently like a thundercloud. But at least he’s drinking the newly bought beer Dean handed him. The whiskey still sits untouched on the table in front of Nick. The knuckles on Nick’s right hand are bruised. That’s bad news. If he’s been in a fight and lost…</p><p>Dean doesn’t want to think about it. He whistles Twisted Nerve from Kill Bill while he works. Rubs at a spot on the fridge that turns out to be a shadow. Adjusts a spice jar. Adjusts it again. Adjusts it again. Adjusts it again.</p><p>“You wanna go jam after dinner?” he asks and flips the steak. Nick likes it bloody just like him.</p><p>Dean’s planned to spend all evening editing, but he won’t be able to if he hasn’t fixed Nick first.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>“No? Watch a movie?” Dean asks over his shoulder.</p><p>Nick shakes his head.</p><p>Dean’s all out of ideas. He stirs the stew. Dries off a sauce stain from the stove. Adjusts a spice jar. Makes sure the folds in the kitchen towel are neat. He pulls the steak off the stove to sit, uses a strainer to empty the pot of sugar snaps, rinses briefly in cold water to stop them from going mushy, back in the pot with butter on top.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I forgot to do something I should have? I’ve got shit for memory.</em>
</p><p>He plates the food as artistically as he can make it, serves it, turns the stove off, and does the dishes. Nick’s still tense but he seems to enjoy his meal. Dean leaves the kitchen. There’s dry mud on the floor from Nick’s boots. Vacuuming might disturb Nick while eating, but if he uses a broom?</p><p>Dean goes to get it in the hallway, but from the kitchen, he hears Nick’s sharp voice say, “Leave it!” and detours towards the stairs.</p><p>
  <em>Whelp. No cleaning then.</em>
</p><p>He hurries to his room and grabs his notebook (or brain, as he likes to think of it) then reads through the three-page long to-do list for today. Everything but editing is done and he checks off ‘dinner’ while he’s at it.</p><p>He flips back to yesterday's list and goes through it. There. A task without a checkmark.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck! The laundry!</em>
</p><p>With his heart in his throat, he hurries down the stairs and to the basement. In pure terror, he discovers the laundry’s done and hanging to dry. He touches the clothes. They’re already dry.</p><p>
  <em>Fuckfuckfuck!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That’s it, right? I failed so he had to do it?</em>
</p><p>With a dry mouth and heart jackhammering he sets to the task to fold and iron the clothes, then goes upstairs to deliver the clean clothes to Nick and Steve’s rooms. Once he’s put the last in Steve’s wardrobe he goes back into the kitchen. Nick’s still sitting there radiating ‘bad mood’, but leaned back and more relaxed. He’s drained his beer and is now sipping the whiskey.</p><p>Dean cleans away the empty plate, washes it, adjusts a spice jar, makes lunch boxes out of the rice and stew, adjusts a spice jar, and again, and again―</p><p>“Grab us a beer each. Come. Sit,” Nick says without any inflection of purpose in his voice.</p><p>Dean abandons the spice rack and goes to do as he’s told. He’s walking on needles now. Nick’s face gives nothing away. “So, what’s up, Doc?” Dean chirps after handing Nick a new, opened beer and sitting down opposite of him. He’s done something. If it was the laundry, the ironing hopefully made up for it. Maybe it’s the flowers? He hasn’t picked new wildflowers since Ennis accidentally broke the vase.</p><p>
  <em>Crap.</em>
</p><p>Nick purses his lips and scrutinizes him for a beat. “What have you been up to today?” he asks.</p><p>“Oh, ah.” Dean flusters a little laugh and drags a hand through his hair. “You know. The usual? Babysat Sam in the morning and then shot some stuff for YouTube. Nothing important.”</p><p>Nick shakes his head. “No<em>oo</em>,” he says with fake patience, “I don’t know what the usual is. The inside of my head is a very ugly place to be right now. I need you to redecorate it. So, please, humor me. Tell me what you’ve done.”</p><p>“Um, yeah, okay. First I went to the gym with Sam as usual, because what’s a morning if you can’t spend an hour losing your will to live first, right?” he jokes. “Then Andy had taken a day off to help me shoot some stuff. He’s boring to be with but he’s great at manning a camera, right? Not on par with your photography, but he’s got an eye for it and he’s been getting steadily better. Our first stop was the fire station―”</p><p>“The fire station? What were you doing there?” Nick asks and takes a sip of his beer with a curious frown. He shifts on his chair and suddenly their legs are in contact under the table.</p><p>The slight press against Dean’s leg is a balm. “Oh, a video on CPR and fire safety. A while back I was trying to figure out how to do what I wanted without getting the fire brigade involved since they’d have to be credited and give away my location. But I mentioned it to Sam and he went all up in arms and threatened to send Dad a postcard if I let his damn college ruin my ideas.”</p><p>Nick chuckles, some of the tenseness leaving his shoulders.</p><p>Encouraged, Dean goes on. “Okay, so, you remember the sewing video I made?”</p><p>“The one that mended my jeans, yes.”</p><p>“Right. I got comments on it about not being a real man and that’s fucking funny to me. I recorded an instant reaction of it, basically just laughing my ass off and taking the piss out of the guy. But instead of posting it right away, I got an idea to make a full video of why I couldn’t give a shit about comments like that, making it a thirst trap. It kinda spiraled from there. So every quality I have and wanted to include in it, I’m making a full video about that I will post after I’m done with my thirst trap. CPR is one of those things. I’m planning to call that video ‘Necromancy 101’.”</p><p>Nick bursts out laughing and leans forward on the table with a bemused wrinkle between his brows.</p><p>The anxiety leaves Dean. It feels like he’s run a marathon, but Nick’s laughing so it’s all good now. He sniggers. “Hey, your heart stops, you’re dead. I had a teacher go into cardiac arrest in class once and I got his heart started before the paramedics arrived. I’m a bonafide necromancer.”</p><p>“Who taught you that?”</p><p>“Dad. In case something should happen to Sam while he was away.”</p><p>“Huh. So you spent the day playing with the fire department…” Nick says with an amused smile.</p><p>“What? Oh, yeah, no, that was our first stop. Gotta make use of Andy while he’s free since I’m too busy after his school days, usually. We chose today to make several appointments since Sam has therapy and I didn't have to babysit in the afternoon. Next, we went to the gun range for some kickass shots. I already got quite a lot from there but mostly stuff I’ve shot myself and it’s possible to get cooler shots with a camera man. After that we went to the stables up North to shoot a riding video.”</p><p>“Horse riding?” Nick asks, eyebrows shooting upward in surprise.</p><p>“Yeah. I dated a girl with a horse and some of my friends in Texas had horses. Anyway, that’s when we got lucky with the sun coming out mid-downpour. Some of the shots are fucking incredible. Then we went for lunch and a change of clothes and went to a kickboxing club. I wanted a Krav Maga place with fighting more like what Dad taught me, but the place I originally found didn’t want to be on YouTube.” There’s a near euphoric relief of averting a crisis that Nick never actually has given him a real reason to fear, that fuels Dean’s enthusiasm of talking about his passion. Nick doesn't say much, just laughs or listens attentively, with short questions interspersed. Under the table their contact gets solidified, legs intertwining.</p><p>Dean tells him about shooting the first version of his video, of not being happy with it and researching the female and male gaze, considering how to build a camera rig that can shoot him from all sides while going up and down in a circle, about dolly zooms, and trying to make a song for the video that has what it takes to go viral as a meme. He talks about ideas he has, about the price of licensing songs, and his uncertainty about publishing covers without a license. He talks about how he’s struggled with making kickass transitions, but he’s getting the hang of it now and how he plans his videos to make them look professional.</p><p>“...and I was sitting in my room, right? Recording a pretty serious monologue. Then Steve bursts in and goes, ‘Are you filming?’, to which I say yes. And he goes to lean over me, looking at the camera, and says, ‘One wall says to the other wall: Meet you at the corner. Now we’ve got all the dads’ attention - I need one.’ Then he winks at the screen and leaves the room. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t fucking breathe,” Dean laughs.</p><p>Nick laughs, carefree and beautiful. Sam’s too fucking lucky and he doesn’t even know it.</p><p>“Oh, did Gabe tell you? The merch samples have arrived. I can’t wait until you get the sales going so you can quit your job,” Nick says.</p><p>“Quit my job?”</p><p>“As a karaoke host. It’s taking up too much valuable time from you. It’s clear that this job is what you should be focusing on,” Nick says easily.</p><p>“Yeah, well, YouTuber isn’t a real job,” Dean counters.</p><p>Nick scrunches up his face in a grimace. “Says who? YouTube is Television for the tech savvy generation. Only difference is you need to do everything yourself on a non-existent budget and put out a steady stream of content or the algorithm will fuck you over.”</p><p>Dean swallows. “Mike doesn’t think it’s a real job.”</p><p>Nick snorts. “I said the <em>tech savvy</em> generation, not the losers that have to ask his brothers how to install Instagram on his phone so he can look at pretty pictures of his crush,” he says. Dean sniggers. Nick leans forward on the table and covers Dean’s hand with his own. “Listen. Mike’s the best person I know but he’s a dreamer with no real ambitions. He devotes hours and hours of his life to music, writes songs nobody will ever get to hear, and wouldn’t even dream of trying to make his passion his job. He’s not the one hustling to get gigs, <em>I</em> am. He’s got no idea how much work goes into it because he’s never thought of it. And you don’t talk about it, do you? He sees when you shoot scenes of tomfoolery with your friends here on the weekends and that’s it. When we ask about your day you usually dismiss us with, ‘the usual’ or delve into talking about Sam or something that concerns us personally.”</p><p>“I guess I do that, huh?”</p><p>“Mhm. Don’t listen when people say it isn’t a real job. It is, and they don’t get it. Mike will get it too if you show him.” Nick gives Dean’s hand a little squeeze and leans back again. “And if you want help, I’d love to be included. I can help you build those rigs, or write music or whatever you need. I like when things happen in my life, not just same old same old.”</p><p>Dean sniggers. “Yeah, you love your drama, don’t ya?”</p><p>“Guilty as charged,” Nick smirks. “Now, it’s getting late. I’m heading to bed. Thank you for helping me erase a shitty day,” he says and stands up.</p><p>“Anytime, honey,” Dean says with a cocky smirk.</p><p>“Goodnight, darling.” Nick bends down to give Dean his goodnight-kiss. Dean wets his slightly parted lips and tilts his head up to receive it. It comes with a jolt of surprise when Nick slips his tongue in, cupping his cheek. It sets off rampant butterflies. Dean closes his eyes and opens up to the soft, explorative kiss. They kiss for maybe two minutes before Nick pulls back and stands up straight with a soft sigh. “I guess that whiskey settled harder than expected,” he says.</p><p>Dean giggles, a silly little sound he didn’t mean to make.</p><p>Nick gives him a lopsided smirk and caresses his cheek. “Sweet dreams, precious wife,” he says then turns to walk out of the kitchen.</p><p>Dean remains sitting for several minutes with a hammering heart, lest he be tempted to follow…</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Instead of splitting hairs like Nick and Dean do by saying 'Technically it isn't cheating,' let's just name it 'deceit' since their biggest sin is going behind their brothers' backs. Mike and Sam will never find out, but no matter how good liars Nick and Dean are, or how silent Steve keeps, this can only go on for so long before it'll start crumbling and they'll have to make a choice. I'd like to address that further in later chapters.</p><p>At this point, Dean thinks Nick's more or less perfect. Nick's abusive tendencies barely register on Dean's radar even if the scene you saw wasn't a one-off. (Why that was a symptom of those tendencies and not just regular bad mood will be shown in the next chapter.) He's so used to it growing up he only makes note of Nick's good sides. At the same time, Mike's ignorant comment about YouTube blows up in Dean's mind since it fits with his own thought of not being worth anything. He could've changed Mike's opinion simply by telling him how long it takes to make a video and that you have to post often or the algorithm will disfavor you. Both Mike and Dean clam up about things for different reasons, and both of them make attempts at talking about things but shut each other down. Mike shuts Dean down unknowingly and Dean does it on purpose. The day they stop doing that is the day they have a chance of working as a couple.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. MICHAEL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Gabe's making an odd choice Mike wishes he wouldn't make. Nick's trying to do right by Mike. And Dean attempts to open up to Mike.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No warnings on this chapter I think? Only a slur or two perhaps. We'll get a glimpse into what went on in Nick's head in the last chapter, and some glimpses on how things may look to an outsider who isn't smitten.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Nick runs his fingers through the stripes of come on his belly, smearing it around instead of cleaning it up right away like a normal fucking human. His mind still holds a visceral memory of the goodnight kiss in the kitchen. His self-loathing is at an all-time high and, still, the temptation to go knock on Dean’s door is as burning as his addiction to drugs ever was.</p>
<p>He pats his fingers in the stickiness, contemplating jerking off once again even though his dick hasn’t gone fully soft yet. He lifts his hand to look at it, rubbing his sticky fingers together with a grimace, knowing he has to have a talk with Dean about going to the clinic to get tested. If Mikey is to be believed, he’s meticulous about using condoms even when he’s drunk. Nick? Not so much. He tried to remember it, and mostly, he did. But sometimes he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit which makes a very awkward conversation with Dean necessary.</p>
<p>It sucks. Most likely, he'll be pussyfooting that talk for weeks. Talking about what people like in bed is easy. Talking about STDs? Not at all.</p>
<p>He presses the phone to his cheek and resumes playing with the cooling come on his belly. Just as he thinks his call is going to voicemail, Ella answers.</p>
<p>“Hi, Nick. Listen, I’m kinda busy right n―”</p>
<p>“I fucked Dean,” Nick interrupts.</p>
<p>Ella is quiet for a beat, then there’s a muffled sound and he can hear her hold the phone away and say, “<em>Guys, I’m sorry, something very important just came up. I have to skip this round.</em>” More muffled sounds, a door opening and closing, then Ella’s back. “I’m listening,” she says, sounding far too excited about this conversation.</p>
<p>“It’s all your fault,” Nick accuses.</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. I was the one who stuck my dick in our big brother’s boyfriend. How <em>could</em> I forget?” she counters sarcastically.</p>
<p>“If you hadn’t told me to send him a dick pic, none of this would’ve happened,” <em>yet</em>, he doesn’t add.</p>
<p>Ella sniggers. “I didn’t. I tried to weasel you out of 50 bucks, not <em>lose</em> them. Now give me the deets.”</p>
<p>Nick whines, wasting a perfectly good grimace she can’t see. “In that case, it’s Mikey’s fault.”</p>
<p>“Mh. He asked you to fuck Dean then?” Ella says dryly.</p>
<p>“No. But he’s a fucking idiot. He’s practically driving Dean into my arms,” Nick sulks.</p>
<p>“He wouldn’t be able to if you didn’t stand there waiting, spreading them. Now <em>spill</em>.”</p>
<p>“You know, he’s technically not Mike’s boyfriend,” Nick tries.</p>
<p>“<em>Nick,</em>” Ella reprimands.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright,” Nick mutters and reaches for the tissues by his bedside with his free hand. “But it’s not like Dean wasn’t down for it,” he says and dabs the come off his belly. It’s dried too much to let itself be easily removed. It’ll get uncomfortable. Like he deserves.</p>
<p>“Nobody’s accusing you of rape. Did you call just to tease me with juicy gossip or were you planning to actually <em>tell me</em> what happened? Because we’re having guests over,” Ella says, running out of patience.</p>
<p>Nick sighs and tosses the used tissue on the floor. “It’s been going on for a while. The guy’s fucking perfect. Broken in all the right ways. I don’t have to hold myself back and use cotton gloves as I do around Sam. Then we took Babygay to a gay club and, mh, well Steve didn’t go home with us, so things kind of just happened…”</p>
<p>Ella, the fucking bitch, sniggers. “Just like that, huh?” she says with skeptical amusement.</p>
<p>“Well… there was the sexting after I sent the dick pic. And then we accidentally got each other on Omegle when we were both trawling for someone to jerk off with,” Nick admits.</p>
<p>“And like responsible adults, you quickly clicked away, I presume?” Ella purrs, knowing full well that isn’t the case.</p>
<p>“Technically, since we were in different rooms we didn’t do anything and it didn’t count,” Nick says petulantly.</p>
<p>Ella laughs. “That’s the second time you’ve used ‘technically’ and you know that when you throw that word around you’re just making excuses. What you’re saying is that you’d already crossed the line and left it so far behind you it got lost on the horizon.”</p>
<p>Despite himself, Nick chuckles. “I will never admit that.” He shakes his head and stares at the ceiling. “Mike and Dean are so in love with each other it’s insane. As soon as they’re in the same room, they can’t take their eyes off each other.”</p>
<p>“Dean’s in love with Mike too? Because it doesn’t sound like it when Mike talks about them.”</p>
<p>“That’s because they’re speaking different languages. If Dean wasn’t equally interested, they wouldn’t have lasted this long. The problem is, you know how Mike thinks a relationship should be equal, and that you should respect each other’s boundaries and space? How you should want to be with each other, not need to?”</p>
<p>“Yes. It’s a very healthy approach. How’s that a problem?”</p>
<p>“Dean’s basically me. In need of constant validation. On top of that, he’s conditioned to only see the here-and-now since his asshole dad kept yanking him away from every close bond he ever formed. That doesn’t work well with someone who plans ahead and requires space. You know what it works really, awfully, disgustingly well with? <em>Me</em>.”</p>
<p>Ella’s quiet for a bit. “This problem runs deeper than just having fucked him, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Nick admits.</p>
<p>“What about Sam? Have you gotten over him?”</p>
<p>“Not by a mile. But it’s increasingly clear to me how much damage it would do if I took it to the next level. And his age is starting to show enough for me to actually see him for the teenager he is. I’m under his spell when he’s here, but I’m starting to feel how damn old I’ve become.”</p>
<p>“You’re not even thirty. And you’ve been handling him with great care, Nicky. He tells me, you know? He told me about what happened on your date. I’m proud of you.”</p>
<p>Nick grimaces. “I bet he didn’t tell you I nearly fucked him despite him starting to dissociate.”</p>
<p>“No. He said you stopped as soon as old memories started to superimpose and blend with what you were doing. Just thinking about ignoring the signals doesn’t make you guilty of the actions you didn’t commit,” Ella reminds him. “And Dean’s not that much older,” she also points out.</p>
<p>“Dean’s older than me,” Nick counters. “He just hasn’t lived as long.”</p>
<p>Ella giggles.</p>
<p>“I mean it, El. The housewife thing isn’t a joke. He’s been a full-time working mother since he was a child.” Ella bursts out laughing. Nick waits patiently until she’s stopped laughing. “I’m fucking obsessed, El. He’s ambitious. He’s smart, resourceful, beautiful, takes instructions like a champ, and even when I’m at my worst he can handle me. You know why? Because his fucking dad was ten times worse. I swear, if I ever get my hands on John Winchester he’s a dead man. Hurting <em>my</em> boys.”</p>
<p>Ella ignores Nick’s intense hatred for John Winchester and fixates on something else. “How do you know Dean can handle you at your worst?” she asks with stern trepidation.</p>
<p>“You had to get stuck on that part, huh?” Nick complains. “Okay. We fucked once but we decided that we shouldn’t do that again. I’ve been teeming with jealousy and guilt ever since. That’s irrelevant. But he’s got those emotional feelers that you and Gabe have. Today, I had a shitty fucking day. It went from bad to worse. Even got into a fight and left some poor schmuck unconscious behind a dumpster. Not important. I was pissed when I got home. Wasn’t trying to show it, but I’d barely set foot inside before Dean was in full OCD mode. It pisses me off because it means he sees how alike I and his dad are. So I sit down by the kitchen table and…” Nick goes on to tell Ella what happened. How Dean had tried to placate him with booze―a bad idea when Nick’s already unhinged, but John had probably demanded it―then mistaken Nick’s question about the food as critique and instantly gone to the store to produce what Nick might want, and so on.</p>
<p>“By the end it was a damn miracle he wasn’t shivering with fear, waiting for whatever punishment he’d deluded himself he deserves,” Nick goes on. “The worst part is, I had him figured out far earlier and I knew I could easily dispel his anxieties. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want to. I try not to direct my anger on others than who caused it. I’ve gotten pretty good at that. I’m not who I once was. But it’s still <em>there</em>, El. I wanted nothing more than to swipe his stew off the stove to watch him clean it up, and then get mad about the dinner being ruined. I was power-tripping. All my energy went to <em>not</em> doing anything messed up. I hate myself. I hate myself so fucking much! I’m the absolute lowest lowlife.”</p>
<p>“But he’s not consistent, you know?” Nick says, not letting Ella get a word in edgewise. “A few days ago glitter was mentioned and I had a small fit about no glitter allowed at home. But in Dean’s mind, glitter isn’t a punishable offense. Would you fucking believe?! So, that means he’s not backing down and has decided I have to be weaned off my so-called irrational fear of glitter. I don’t <em>fear</em> glitter, okay? But Dean has a gun and can legit kill me with his bare hands, so now I need to be prepared that glitter can happen at any time and the only thing I can do to prevent it, is to move out. Which I can’t do since I don’t want to leave my boys and bringing them would be bringing the problem along. <em>Would you stop laughing?</em>”</p>
<p>Ella’s laughing so hard she’s doing pig-noises. She’s an awful sister.</p>
<p>Nick takes a few deep breaths to calm down, yanking a blanket over himself to cover up. “What I’m trying to explain, is that who’s in power at any given moment is all in Dean’s head. If he decides he’s worthy of a punishment somehow, he’ll slink around like a kicked dog trying to fix it. If he doesn’t, I find myself on the floor with my hands bent up on my back and my cheek pressed against the floor. And not in the fun way. I’m sure it’s exhausting for him to be OCDing like he does, but he’s not taking any new kind of damage from it. Sam, on the other hand, hasn’t been treated like Dean and I would be a new kind of monster to deal with.”</p>
<p>“I see what you mean. Unfortunately. I talk to Sam a couple of times a week now and he seems to have the idea of you as this soft, kind, and loving person. Not that he’s wrong, but he refuses to acknowledge that you’re anything but good, despite how you treated him in the beginning.”</p>
<p>Nick grimaces and tips over on his side, traps the phone between his ear and the pillow, and pets his hair soothingly. “What am I going to do? I feel so damn guilty concerning Mikey. At the same time, I want to ram my fist in his face because he isn’t listening to me when I tell him what to do to reel Dean in. But I’m also holding back on the information he needs because I don’t want to lose my wife,” he complains.</p>
<p>“You won’t lose him. You were happy with what you had before you slept with him and there’s nothing to say you’ll have to lose that. Mike doesn’t have to know, and if he finds out I’ve never heard any of this. Besides, it was only once,” Ella says.</p>
<p>Nick’s quiet.</p>
<p>“Nick, it was only once, right?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” <em>So far.</em> Frenching Dean in the kitchen doesn’t count since it was nothing in comparison to what they had done before. “How’s Gerry doing?” he asks instead to divert any follow-up questions.</p>
<p>Ella chuckles. “Haven’t heard from him in weeks.”</p>
<p>“Really? That’s good news, at least.”</p>
<p>“Yes. Have you named yours yet?”</p>
<p>“Nope. It’s still same old Nick. That doesn’t work for me.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Maybe you should try it out on your boys? It’s working wonders for me. I wish someone had suggested it sooner. I have to go now or the guests will start wondering where I went.”</p>
<p>“Mh. Goodnight. Love you.” Nick lies thinking after they’ve said goodbye. About six months ago Ella switched therapists. Her new shrink had suggested she put a name on the mean voices and anxiety in her head as if it was a person. She’d named them Gerry and when her thoughts got too mean to her she’d just mentally tell Gerry to shut up. She’d envisioned a mean, fat, jobless, neckbearded man living in his mother’s basement, and coming from someone like that, the insults didn’t affect her nearly half as much. Nick had laughed at it, but in reality, he’d done the same but opposite for years by hearing his rational thoughts with Mike’s voice. It was easier to listen to Mike than himself.</p>
<p>He wonders what Dean would name his mean voice? He wonders what Dean would look like spread out naked on his bed, <em>right now</em>.</p>
<p>Nick whines in complaint again, throws off his blanket, rolls onto his back, and sticks his hand down to fondle himself. Surely, one more jerk-off would get the thought of Dean out of his mind for good.</p>
<p>
  <em>Riiiight. Because that’s how it works.</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike can hear Dean and his brother talking when he steps inside the hallway of Nick’s house.</p>
<p>“...wasn’t your job,” Nick’s saying.</p>
<p>“Will you <em>stop</em> saying that! Taking care of Sam is my only job and the only job that matters,” Dean protests.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m not saying you haven’t done a splendid job and you should definitely be proud, <em>but</em> it wasn’t <em>your</em> job,” Nick argues while Mike takes off his shoes and hangs up his jacket.</p>
<p>“Who else was supposed to do it then? Was I supposed to just let him fend for himself?”</p>
<p>“Darlin’, if that’s your take on parenthood I hope you never have a child,” Nick drawls.</p>
<p>“Hey, Dad did the best he could,” Dean says defensively.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe that for a minute, my treasure, but I do believe that <em>you</em> need to tell yourself that or you’d have to face the betrayal of the man who was supposed to care for and love you, but over and over chose not to, leaving you to conjure up reasons <em>for him</em>,” Nick lectures.</p>
<p>“Whatever, man, will you just shut up? I ain’t gonna sit here and listen to you trash-talk my dad,” Dean grumps.</p>
<p>Mike follows the voices to the kitchen. “Hey! Am I just in time to see fist fly?” he calls out before he rounds the doorpost and stops dead, staring at Dean and Nick, sitting by the kitchen table. More specifically, staring at Nick, whose skin and hair is dusted by a fine golden glitter.</p>
<p>“Nah, babe, your brother’s just being a cunt,” Dean answers and twists around to grin at Mike.</p>
<p>Nick frowns deeply at Mike and holds up a finger in warning. “Not a word. Not a fucking word!”</p>
<p>Dean’s grin turns malicious. “I believe it’s called cognitive behavioral therapy?” he jokes.</p>
<p>Mike covers his mouth to stifle giggles.</p>
<p>“It’s called exposure therapy, jackass. And for the record, I hate you both,” Nick grumbles and resumes licking envelopes to close them.</p>
<p>The kitchen table is full of papers, envelopes, notebooks, receipts, and post-its. “No, you don’t,” Mike says and walks up to the table so he can give Dean a kiss, then stares at the mess on the table. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Everything,” Nick answers. “Fucking everything, <em>at once</em>,” he complains. “Your idiot crush marked all this simply as ‘paperwork’ in his to-do list.” He makes a circular sweeping motion above the mess to indicate what he means. “Applications, registrations, budget, planning, <em>fucking everything.</em> Oh, and this is your job by the way,” he says and picks up a bulging, open envelope, handing it over.</p>
<p>“Nah, don’t listen to him, babe. You don’t have to help me,” Dean says, wrapping an arm around Mike’s waist to pull him closer, leaning his head against Mike’s side.</p>
<p>“Oh, no. You, really, <em>really</em> do,” Nick says. “I tried to make sense of it and Dean just waved it off with, ‘if we run out of money I’ll stall the project until we get enough,’ but he can’t do that willy-nilly because of <em>fucking taxes</em>.” Nick directs the two last words at Dean, leaning forward over the table glaring at Dean accusingly.</p>
<p>Mike takes one of the wrinkled papers out of the envelope to look at it, turning the page upside down. Words and numbers are scribbled haphazardly in all directions. “Is this… a budget?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Dean answers. “Don’t worry about it. It makes sense to me.”</p>
<p>Nick makes a frustrated sound. “It’s not you it has to make sense to, it’s the IRS, noodlebrain.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you just type this into Excel?” Mike asks Dean.</p>
<p>“Because it’s boring, dummy,” Nick answers testily. “He’s owned a computer for 5 minutes. Excel isn’t what he’s been trying to learn. You know, since he’s <em>normal</em>.” He stands up, snatches the envelope and paper from Mike, shoves the paper back inside, then grabs a pen from the table and writes, ‘Mikey’s assignment’ on the envelope.</p>
<p>“You really don’t have to,” Dean says, looking up at Mike.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “No, I’ll do it. But we’re gonna have to do it together because I’ll need you to decipher the strange pattern, arrows, and contractions I saw on that page.”</p>
<p>“Really? When can we do it?” Dean asks, eyes bright and hopeful, leaning into the touch.</p>
<p>“Tonight when we get back,” Nick answers and leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring challengingly at Mike.</p>
<p>Nick’s pissy mood can only be caused by the fine golden sheen glittering on his skin. It’s not much. It looks like he’s put on body lotion with glitter in it―the kind women use to accentuate their tan―except he has glitter in his hair too. Mike grins. “Tonight then, if you are free?” he asks Dean.</p>
<p>“I always have time for you, babe,” Dean says.</p>
<p>Nick makes a retching sound and stands up. “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>“You sure I can’t convince you to come along?” Mike asks Dean.</p>
<p>“Nah. Nick wanted some quality brother-time with you so he said I couldn’t join y’all. It’s okay. Besides,” Dean gestures at the mess on the table, “I’ve got paperwork to do.”</p>
<p>Mike’s surprised Nick doesn’t want Dean to come. He hadn’t mentioned anything about alone-time when they spoke on the phone. Mike throws a look at Nick but Nick just looks sour, not giving any hints as to why. It’s especially puzzling since they’re meeting up with Gabe and Annie to look at apartments.</p>
<p>Mike says goodbye to Dean, giving him a lingering goodbye-kiss until Nick loses patience and drags him away.</p>
<p>They take Mike’s car. “We should try to talk some sense into Gabe and Annie,” Mike tells Nick when they get into the car and buckle up. “They’ve known each other for five minutes and they’re already talking about moving in together. It’s insanity.”</p>
<p>Nick tssks. “So? Let them be insane. As long as they’re happy.”</p>
<p>Mike side-eyes Nick dubiously before starting the car and backing out of the parking space. “I still think it’s madness. They’ve both got good apartments in the city and they’re going to let them go just like that? If they want to live together they could move into Annie’s apartment and let someone rent Gabe’s. That way they both have somewhere to go if they break up in a couple of months.”</p>
<p>“Says the man already planning marriage and kids,” Nick counters. “Speaking of, when I told you Dean only gets about 4 hours of sleep every night, how did you twist that to mean he sleeps during the day instead?”</p>
<p>“What? I didn’t―”</p>
<p>“Because, you know, if you can’t handle your boytoy, I’m going to have to take it away from you.”</p>
<p>Mike’s about to protest but stops himself, thinking about his last big mess-up that he hadn’t realized until Nick threatened to ban him from his home. “How did I fuck up this time?”</p>
<p>“You know Dean has a bad sense of self-worth, right?” Nick asks. “He has no limitations to what he can do or is willing to try doing. He pretends to be self-confident, but he isn’t. Why? Because he’s got twenty fucking years of the most important adult in his life telling him his wants and needs are unimportant. Somewhere along the way, he picked up the idea that anyone with a degree and a white-collar job is way above him. You know, someone like <em>you</em>. So when you dismiss his passion, the first thing he’s been allowed to do for himself, as nonsensical and unimportant, <em>he’s going to believe you.</em>”</p>
<p>“I haven’t―” Mike cuts himself off, feeling Nick’s glare burn the side of his face. “What did I say?” he corrects. Nick wouldn’t be pissed off if Mike hadn’t said something wrong.</p>
<p>“Let me ask you this instead,” Nick says. “How long do you think it took to make the ‘Where am I?’ video? Hm? He was walking down the trail behind the house, then a jumpcut to inside, several jump cuts between the rooms, anything that could identify me or the location removed from view and restored before I got back. How long did that video take to make, from idea to upload? Not counting that this is his first computer and that he had to learn video editing from scratch.”</p>
<p>“I… I haven’t thought about it,” Mike admits.</p>
<p>"I know you haven't. I know you. You're not intentionally cruel or arrogant. And if you understood what went into Dean's video making, you wouldn't dismiss it as not being a real job. All that paperwork you saw? It is all related to YouTube. You dismissed it as a hobby. You wouldn't tell Kelly Clarkson that singing is just a hobby she can do whenever and she should focus on her real job at Starbucks, so don't tell Dean that his job is any less valid. And start showing interest in what he does. Fucking <em>ask questions</em> about the videos he’s making."</p>
<p>“Hey, I did that!” Mike defends himself. “He told me he was making a video about a comment he got telling him he isn’t a real man but when I tried to pry into that he clammed up and only said it was a thirst trap.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers, bad mood melting away in a heartbeat. “Yes, that’s one hell of a project. We’re making a song to go with it. This far we’re only working on the melody since Dean thinks it’s better if we write the lyrics once we’ve got a rough cut, but the goal is to make a song with a hook within 15 to 30 seconds so it can be memeified.”</p>
<p>“I have no idea what memified means, but you’re writing a song? He lets you help? That sounds like fun,” Mike says with a sting of envy.</p>
<p>“I forced my help on him but he loves it and you should do the same. And you remember all those Harlem Shake videos we watched a couple of years ago? That’s a meme. Or the picture of the shiba inu dog that people put different texts on? Also a meme. So what Dean wants is for people to use a snippet of his song then add their own videos and edits to it, making it go viral.”</p>
<p>“Is it making the song that’s taking so long? Because I can help,” Mike offers enthusiastically.</p>
<p>“No. He was brought up with the ideal that a real man can do anything, so he wanted to include snippets of him doing just that. But then he decided that instead of just filming snippets he’d shoot the material for whole videos and release them after the real-man video.”</p>
<p>“Like a commercial?”</p>
<p>“Exactly. This far he has CPR, car mechanics, guns, horseback riding, cooking, martial arts, music, sewing, cleaning, taking care of kids, and workout done. He’s planning to add in wilderness survival and fishing too, but he needs a weekend off to shoot it since he needs Andy to man the camera.”</p>
<p>Mike is genuinely rattled. “Ouch. Oh no. I owe him an apology. Jesus Christ.”</p>
<p>“Mmhm.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Looking at apartments with Gabe and Annie stresses Mike the hell out. Gabe made a move on Annie the same day she broke up with her ex, and judging by how fast they’ve moved there probably was a lot more attraction kept under lids long before they actually started dating. But Mike still thinks it’s insane to move in together so fast. Luckily, they’re just looking at rentals. That way they can rent out their respective apartments and have somewhere to move back to if they break up.</p>
<p>They look at three apartments but there’s nothing that catches their interest. There’s one both Gabe and Annie kind of like, but it requires some work which rules it out since it’s a rental. Afterward, they walk to grab a bite to eat. Annie’s not really hungry. She’s nauseous and Mike feels sorry for her. Nick, the bastard, worries about catching a stomach bug. ‘I’ve got limited sick days and I need to save them for times when Dean <em>doesn’t</em> pull his punches,’ he says, but Annie assures him it’s just something she ate.</p>
<p>They pass an old factory building converted to apartments and Gabe stops. “Hey, guys, look!” He’s pointing at a for sale sign that declares there’s an open showing of an apartment going on.</p>
<p>“You’re looking for a rental, not to buy,” Mike, sensibly, reminds him.</p>
<p>“Yes, but looking at apartments is fun,” Annie counters.</p>
<p>“Then it’s settled,” Nick decides. “We’re going in.”</p>
<p>Mike tries to argue they don’t even know how big the apartment is or what it costs but nobody in the group cares, so they go in and follow the arrows. They ride the elevator up to the top floor and step inside. A realtor meets them with a big sales-smile and tells them the apartment was once a factory then converted to an office and then converted to an apartment so it’s a bit quirky. Mike stands talking to her in the square, roomy hallway, listening to her pitch, while the rest of them head onward. He sees Gabe and Annie enter an open door and stop dead, looking at something, both going, “Whoa,” at the same time.</p>
<p>At this point, Mike’s already catalogued a number of problems with the place. It smells like old cigarette smoke to begin with. The wallpaper is browned and peeling. The floor is old, gross linoleum with dents and stains. Curiosity makes him leave the realtor to follow the others inside, but not until he’s opened the other door in the entryway to find a bathroom that needs both the bathtub and sink replaced. Although, the tiles are whole and only look to need a good scrubbing, and he can’t smell mold.</p>
<p>Once he steps into the main room he gets what made the others react. The room is large and long, the vaulted ceiling insanely high above, and at the end of the long room there’s a domed window taking up the whole wall, letting in lots of light that makes dust motes sparkle (like Nick) as they dance in the air. But the ‘kitchen’ is shoved into the corner as an open-plan solution. Mike can easily see how this could’ve been an office once, with a break area rather than a break room. Nick’s standing by the window looking out, but Annie and Gabe are walking around with stars in their eyes, saying stuff like, “We can build a loft here!” and, “There’s so much light by the window I could plant an indoor garden.”</p>
<p>The paint on the walls is flaking, there are holes where the plaster has chipped in large chunks, exposing the brick underneath, the linoleum floor is disgusting and way past its prime, it reeks of old, piss-smelling smoke.</p>
<p>While Gabe and Annie flit around, mentally moving in, Mike goes to open the doors he sees along one wall. One bathroom that still has three stalls in it aside from a small shower, a maintenance/storage room with an industrial sink for a janitor, and two offices, one of which has windows into the great room. The only thing that’s been converted to an apartment in this place is the damn bathtub in the entryway.</p>
<p>Mike goes to find Nick. “What do you think it’ll cost to fix this place up?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Just to make it livable?” Nick gives his estimate. “That is, if it passes the inspection. I couldn’t find any hints of mold or water damage, and it <em>seems</em> structurally sound. But I’d still want an inspector to take a look at it.”</p>
<p>“The price is way too high.”</p>
<p>“Mmh,” Nick agrees. “But I was talking to the realtor while you made your round. The place has been on the market since January and the owners are getting desperate to get rid of it.”</p>
<p>“Still, Gabe and Annie can’t afford it.”</p>
<p>“They can if they sell their own apartments,” Nick points out.</p>
<p>“It’s madness, Nick. They’ve <em>just</em> started dating. I don’t get the rush.”</p>
<p>“It’s not for us to get. Go talk to Gabe. He’s going to say they want to make an offer and then you go haggle with the realtor.”</p>
<p>“You expect me to help them with this folly?”</p>
<p>Nick smirks. “If not, they’re going to end up paying the full asking price.”</p>
<p>Mike goes to talk to the realtor.</p>
<p>Later, after they’ve left, and after they’ve eaten, they drop Annie off at her mother’s place. Gabe gets back into the car and as soon as the door is shut, Mike says, “You can’t be serious about buying that place?” and turns the car onto the street.</p>
<p>“I am, and I will. But before you launch into a futile attempt to dissuade me, I want to rewind the conversation to something Nick said earlier,” Gabe says, face dead-serious as he meets Mike’s gaze through the rearview mirror.</p>
<p>“Great. What did I do this time?” Nick grumps.</p>
<p>“You said you’re saving your sick days for when Dean doesn’t pull his punches, which is damned alarming,” Gabe says.</p>
<p>Nick scrunches up his face in a grimace. “Fuck sake. It <em>was a joke</em>.”</p>
<p>“Hell to the no, it wasn’t,” Gabe counters with a deep frown. “You’re afraid of him.”</p>
<p>Mike drives to the side of the street and parks the car. This is a serious conversation that merits all of their attention.</p>
<p>“I’m not afraid of him,” Nick refutes testily.</p>
<p>“Exhibit A. You’re covered in glitter and you haven’t said a word about it,” Gabe argues. “To me that reads like a huge red flag. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but Mike’s dating him and you’re living with him, and if he gets so violent that you of all people are holding on to sick days just in case he gets angry? That’s a darned red flag parade with his other red flags.”</p>
<p>“His other red flags?” Nick drawls with fake disinterest. “Please, indulge us.”</p>
<p>“Don’t play stupid. You were the first to ring the bell. Going through my phone, dictating who we can be friends with, disregarding Mike’s feelings, I could go on and on. But if we’re adding violence to that list I don’t want any of you anywhere near him,” Gabe says.</p>
<p>“He’s afraid of me too,” Nick counters defensively.</p>
<p>Mike remains quiet with growing discomfort in the pit of his stomach. He wants to argue in Dean’s defense. Nothing Gabe says will persuade him from seeing Dean. He says nothing, just listens.</p>
<p>“Aha! So you <em>are</em> afraid of him!” Gabe exclaims, his hand coming from the backseat to poke Nick on the shoulder.</p>
<p>“So what if I occasionally don’t dare to clash with him? Is it so bad that the consequences I face are so dire that I manage to rein myself in? Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, I don’t <em>want</em> to beat my garden gnome little brother to a pulp just because he covers my house with glitter? If I was afraid of you it never would’ve happened. I don’t care if he occasionally throws a punch, I’m not letting you take my boy away from me.” Nick’s starting to get angry now.</p>
<p>“You’re defending him so hard one might think you’re the one with a crush on him,” Gabe argues with narrowed eyes.</p>
<p>Nick turns around in his seat to point angrily at Gabe. “<em>Fuck you!</em> I was much worse than Dean will ever be and Dad didn’t give up on me even when I held a fucking knife to his throat. Dad didn’t give up on any of us and neither will I.”</p>
<p>Gabe leans back and looks at his lap with a chastised expression. “It just bothers me that he hit you on the stairway when Sam tried to force you to have sex with him.” Sam’s told everyone he cares about what happened, almost as if he's trying to will them to not forgive him. On the contrary his friends have added his guilt and regret as points to his character.</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “Firstly, that was fucking theatrics. He pulled me into a sitting position, stopped the forward motion of the punch on impact at the same time as he let me go so it <em>looked</em> like he hit harder than it did. When Sam retells it it sounds like he put his fist <em>through</em> my head, which is bullshit. Secondly, I was about to fuck a 17-year-old with a long history of sexual abuse, Gabe. If his big brother wants to kick my ass for it, so be it. So, yes, Dean speaks violence fluently just like I. But he scares me because he has control instead of randomly going off like me. So relax. Your misgivings are unfounded.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mike knocks on Dean’s door and waits for an invite. When he hears Dean respond he opens the door and steps inside. He’s still got a buzz of discomfort in his belly after the chat about violence and red flags. When Mike’s with Dean, he sees exactly no red flags whatsoever. But he knows that when you’re wearing rose-colored glasses red flags just look like any other flags. Not that it changes anything. Naive perhaps, but he’s sure they could weather anything once Dean decides to board the ship.</p>
<p>Dean’s by his desk watching footage of himself with a concentrated frown, in front of him there are piles of the paperwork he’d been working on in the kitchen earlier. He pauses and lights up when he sees Mike. “Hey,” he says softly. “You came back.”</p>
<p>“I promised I’d help you, didn’t I?” Mike says with a lopsided smile and steps inside.</p>
<p>Dean spins his chair to face Mike with a big grin. “Yeah, but people make a lot of promises. I’ve learned not to count my chickens until they’re fully grown and roasting on a spit, if you feel me?”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and walks up to Dean. Dean parts his knees and pulls Mike to stand between them, wrapping his arms around Mike and resting his cheek against Mike’s belly. “I owe you an apology,” Mike says and pets Dean’s hair.</p>
<p>Dean tilts his head up, eyebrows raised in question. “What for?”</p>
<p>“Because I assumed you do this,” he gestures at Dean’s computer, “for the same reason as I play music; to relax, unwind, and step away from the real world. I didn’t realize the hard work that goes into making some of those videos, and I didn’t realize you’re aiming to make a living off it. I came across as dismissive, and I’m sorry for it.”</p>
<p>Dean huffs. “Pah. It’s alright. It’s not like I’m doing something important,” he says and lets go of Mike with one hand so he can wave it dismissively.</p>
<p>“If it brings you joy it’s definitely important. And I’d argue that it’s a lot more important than any of our jobs, since you reach a wide audience and bring hope to people who are struggling. Don’t dismiss it just because I so stupidly did.”</p>
<p>Dean chuckles, burrows his face into Mike’s belly with a little headshake, then looks up and asks, “Did Gabe and Annie find a nice rental?” changing the topic completely.</p>
<p>It doesn’t really sit well with Mike. He frowns in concern. “Dean―”</p>
<p>“Don’t want to talk about it, huh? It’s okay, I’ll just text Gabe later. So. Should we get started?”</p>
<p>Dean couldn’t be more evasive if he so dived off the chair and sprinted out of the room. Mike deflates. “They didn’t find a rental. No, it’s much worse. They found a place they’re buying together. But to do that they need to sell their current apartments.”</p>
<p>Dean lights up. “That’s awesome!”</p>
<p>“Awesome?!” Mike sputters in shock. He looks around, sees a folding chair leaned against the wall, grabs it and sits down so his knees brackets Dean’s. “It’s lunacy. It’s a fixer-upper and they’ve only been dating for weeks.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but they’ve known each other for months,” Dean counters and puts his hands on Mike’s thighs.</p>
<p>Mike covers Dean’s hands with his own, intertwining their fingers on one hand. “It’s insane. Moving in together is something you do when you’ve dated for a year or two unless extraordinary circumstances make it necessary to do it faster. I would’ve let Sam move in if he’d become homeless during the summer, but otherwise, it’s a surefire way to crash a relationship and when things go to shit, you’re stuck trying to divide shared assets while holding grudges against each other.”</p>
<p>Dean chuckles. He looks Mike in the eyes for a while, then chuckles again and looks at his lap. “Yeah… this is why we’re having problems, babe. I’m a mayfly and you’re an elephant.”</p>
<p>Mike frowns with a nervous twist in his belly. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Every relationship I have with y’all, as friends, or otherwise,” he lifts their intertwined hands to kiss Mike’s knuckles, then lowers them again. “Is 36 days longer than any other relationship I’ve had aside from Sam and Dad since I was four.” He meets Mike’s gaze. “Every day counts. Every hour counts. Hell, every minute spent together, counts. And so does every minute spent apart.” He lets go of Mike’s hand to hold up his hand palm down. “Every day you spend with me, the staple rises,” he moves his hand up in increments, “and every hour we spend apart the staple goes down.” He slowly lowers his hand. “That’s why I say three days isn’t enough. I can’t make it my number two priority when it’s no more than 42% of a week. I’m dead tomorrow. I’m always dead tomorrow. My number one priority is to make sure Sam isn’t, but, I dunno how to explain it.”</p>
<p>Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face. He gives off the impression of not being finished speaking so Mike bites his tongue and keeps his focus on Dean to leave him room to talk.</p>
<p>Dean reaches for the stack of papers, files, and envelopes on his desk and pulls out two notebooks from the bottom of the pile. He hands over one. “This is me having trouble breathing, unable to think straight and being on the verge of throwing myself into my car and just go, to never return.”</p>
<p>Mike opens the notebook and leafs through it. Just like the budget paper he’d seen it’s disjointed, sentences or words written from any angle, in different colors, some underlined or ringed, some crossed out or checkmarked. There is a system. Mike can see it now that he has multiple pages to go through. Anything in red seems to be long-term endeavors. ‘See Broadway show with Mike’, ‘Make a record with the Archangels’ to name a few. Blue pen seems to mean stuff that’s booked or in the works. ‘Office party with Mike’, ‘Thanksgiving dinner’, ‘Find Cas for Mike’. Often the blue is written in red and crossed out to be rewritten in blue. A lot of the stuff written in black is only one word so Mike can’t interpret it.</p>
<p>“This is my brain and the closest thing I come to a prayer,” Dean says and leafs through the other notebook. He holds it up so Mike can see pages of neat to-do lists followed by checkmarks. They’re so extensive they’re daunting to look at but they’re a mix of mundane things like house chores and less mundane like research tasks, shooting schedules, and work. Dean flips to a page without checkmarks. “Every day I write out the to-do list for tomorrow so I won’t forget something, and brace for the risk of not getting the chance to do them. Kinda like a prayer. That’s what I mean when I say I’m a mayfly.”</p>
<p>Mike draws breath to speak but Dean interrupts him. “I understand the concept of being an elephant. Like, theoretically, I get it. Most people, if they ask their parents if they’ll be allowed to go to their own graduation in 6 days hence, and their parents say yes, then they’re not gonna get woken up in the middle of the night before graduation and packed into a car to drive several states away. If they make plans in three days and something comes up, like they need to go to the dentist or whatever, it’s perfectly normal for them to reschedule to the week after or whatever. For me, that means it didn’t happen and the promise was broken. But I’m bracing for it, right? I’m bracing for it so I won’t be disappointed. That means, if you say you’ll want to move in with me in a year, that’s 365 days of me bracing for you to change your mind. And I <em>get</em> that theoretically I’m able to make plans now, but emotionally, I don’t trust it. I <em>want</em> to, but I don’t.”</p>
<p>“You must have so much hidden anxiety,” Mike states, hurting for Dean just thinking about it.</p>
<p>Dean waves his hand dismissively with a big grin. “Nah. The usual amount. I’m just tryna to explain that I’m a needy bastard and if you wanna buy a fixer-upper with me, I’m all in so I can make you cry every day with my lack of financial planning skills,” he says jokingly. “So. Enough of the chick-flick moment. Let’s get to work.” He grabs the envelope with his budget papers and slaps it on the desk beside Mike. The air around him seems to shift. It’s like he slammed down a wall, dug a moat, and released the alligator all in one breath.</p>
<p>Mike hooks his hand around Dean’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss then leans their foreheads together. “I love you.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Dean answers with a smirk.</p>
<p>“No. I don’t think you do. I love you, Dean Winchester,” Mike insists, heart hammering nervously, knowing it might scare Dean off.</p>
<p>Dean chuckles with a wide grin that’s visibly a mask. “Babe, you don’t need me.”</p>
<p>“I love you,” Mike repeats and gives Dean another kiss.</p>
<p>“You wanna fuck, or you gonna help me? I can do both but if you’re gonna repeat that then I’ll be naked in bed in no time,” Dean jokes.</p>
<p>Mike puts away Dean’s notebook and cups Dean’s cheeks to look him deep in the eyes. “I love you, Dean Winchester. I’m sorry for every time I might’ve hurt you by being preoccupied with work or ignorant as to what you actually do. But to my elephant’s mind we might spend 42,857% together but you’re in my thoughts 100% of the time. And that staple you were talking about lowers abysmally slow. If we’re separated for six months, you can rest assured my feelings for you are as solid as they were when we left. If you bet on me you bet on the turtle, not the hare.”</p>
<p>Dean’s cheeks are hot, his eyes terrified and Mike can see how fast his heart is beating in the hollow at the base of his throat.</p>
<p>Shouting from another room pops the moment like a balloon.</p>
<p>“<em>You just want to change me! Why can’t you just accept me for who I am?!</em>”</p>
<p>Mike lets go of Dean and looks at the open door with raised eyebrows. “Who’s that?”</p>
<p>Dean chuckles. “That’s Liam, Steve’s disco ball jersey girl twink,” he says and holds up his hands defensively, grining, when Mike frowns at him. “Steve’s words, not mine. Kinda waited for this since Liam came by. Last time he was here he was in normal clothes which worked well enough even if he was acting a bit too gay for Steve. But today he was in his full getup and Steve was nopeing out so hard already when he spotted him through the window.”</p>
<p>“What about Trey?”</p>
<p>Dean opens his mouth to answer but Steve’s door slams shut and opens, then someone’s stomping halfway down the hallway. They can hear Steve and he’s angry.</p>
<p>“The hell I do! I never said that! I said it doesn’t do it for me. You do you. You wanna hang out while dressing like a My Little Pony that’s fucking fine, but I ain’t getting it up for you when you do. I simply ain’t fucking someone who looks like a five-year-old girl’s dressup doll.”</p>
<p>Then comes the sound of a slap and Steve empathically cursing.</p>
<p>Dean’s out of his chair and in the corridor in the blink of an eye. He’s transformed, cold and dark, standing at full height looking down the corridor. “Hey, buddy. You wanna run that one past me again?” he says threateningly.</p>
<p>“This is none of your business, Dean,” Liam answers.</p>
<p>Dean’s face darkens further. He quickly half spins and punches the wall beside the doorway so hard Mike flinches. Then he looks back down the corridor. “Come again?”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, you’re both crazy! I’m leaving! And don’t bother calling me again, <em>bitch</em>. I don’t want anything to do with you and your tiny fucking dick,” Liam says, presumably directing the last sentence towards Steve. Dean backs a step into his room to let Liam pass and Mike gets a glimpse of a flamboyant femboy striding past with his nose in the air.</p>
<p>They’re all quiet listening to the footsteps stomping down the stairs, the pause, and then the slamming entrance door.</p>
<p>“Am I the asshole?” Steve asks, upset. “Am I? You were there, Dean. I <em>told him</em> sissies don’t do it for me―”</p>
<p>“<em>Language!</em>” Nick yells from his bedroom.</p>
<p>“Fuck you, daddy!” Steve yells back.</p>
<p>Mike barks a surprised laugh and Nick makes a wounded noise.</p>
<p>Steve comes into the room and falls back on Dean’s bed with his arms spread wide and a frustrated groan. “I was upfront. Am I really the asshole when I stand by the first fucking thing I said to him?”</p>
<p>Dean comes back and sits down on his chair, chuckling, the dark violence in him nowhere to be seen. “An asshole for standing by your word? Nope. Your delivery, though? Nnnn… a bit? But he’s been out with you before so he’d already know how you talk. And obviously he didn’t see any fault with your dick or he wouldn’t have come back for more.”</p>
<p>“It’s not <em>tiny</em>, okay? It’s fucking normal unless you compare it to tripods like Sam.”</p>
<p>Dean holds up his hands with a grimace of disgust. “Please don’t. If there’s one dick I don’t want to visualize it’s my kid brother’s.”</p>
<p>Both Steve and Mike snigger. “Hey, is it alright if I hang out with you for a bit until I’ve calmed down?” Steve asks.</p>
<p>“Sure,” Mike says. “We’ll be making sense of Dean’s budget, so if it doesn’t bore you?”</p>
<p>“Anything is better than being alone in my room feeling like a shithead because I couldn’t get it up for a guy.”</p>
<p>Despite it all, Steve makes for good company. Trying to make a budget for Dean is a trial of patience because anything that is too expensive and should be prioritized for later by saving up to it Dean strikes out and puts on a list he names BBS. ‘Beg-Borrow-Steal.’ It’s like he willfully refuses to acknowledge that he’ll get more money coming in at a later date. And Dean’s attitude towards receipts <em>could</em> actually make Mike cry. Steve solves the issue by snagging Dean’s to-do notebook, write something on tomorrow’s list and hand it back to Dean with the most unimpressed expression ever. All he did was write ‘<tt>Save all receipts</tt>’ at the top of the page, and ‘<tt>sort receipts</tt>’ at the bottom. Dean makes an appreciative noise.</p>
<p>When they’ve finally finished, Steve asks if he can see the statistics for the latest video and Dean shows them along with the rest of the videos. It’s fascinating, since the revenue varies wildly.</p>
<p>“My cute video is my most popular by far, right? It’s passed a million views by now, which, mind fucking blown, right? But check this out,” Dean shows them the statistics. “Okay, so here we see that this one brings in a lot of new subscribers. But, look, a lot of the views come from all over the world. But advertisers aren’t interested in that so it earns me next to nothing. But look at this video on cleaning. See this? I’m getting nearly 6 bucks per 1000 views and the click-through rate is off the charts. Turns out a lot of the people watching it are above 30 years old, Americans, and probably homeowners, plus they don’t have adblock like the youngsters, so I’m making bank. Kinda. Like, I’m not, yet.”</p>
<p>“How does the number of subscribers you have influence your revenue?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t. Not directly. But it helps guaranteeing I get views on every video I upload. And the algorithm tracks the traffic and will promote and recommend popular uploads. It’s all about ads. I’d like to upload more music stuff but those videos will get claimed by the copyright holders unless you license the songs you do covers of. Which is fine, by the way. I don’t mind that but I’m a bit iffy about the risk of getting sued.”</p>
<p>Mike gets sucked into the specifics that goes into trying to make a profit on YouTube and the three of them end up discussing ideas with great enthusiasm. Dean sits staring at Mike with pursed lips for a while, then out of the blue says, “Can I top tonight?”</p>
<p>Steve rapidly stands up. “Okay, that’s my cue. I’m out.”</p>
<p>“You can stay and watch,” Dean says with a shiteating grin and waggles his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“<em>Good night</em>,” Steve says pointedly and leaves, closing the door behind him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Dean was gentle and loving with the prep, but Mike will still be feeling it for days. He’s not used to bottoming. It’s nice once you get going, but he’ll always favor topping. He might not if he was as sensitive as Dean. The faint throbbing in his butt isn’t what keeps his mind occupied right now. It’s Dean’s sweetness. How he’d kept eye contact through it all like he didn’t want to miss a thing, how he’d framed Mike’s head with his arms, boxing him in protectively, and how he’s been lying on his side, tracing Mike’s face with his fingers, drinking him in without a word ever since they got done. “What are you thinking about?” Mike asks with a small smile.</p>
<p>“Elephant turtles. That I’m trash. What you like in bed?”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. “You’re not trash and I like most things in bed.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re a picky eater, sex-wise. <em>I</em> like most things in bed. And I’m trash, I’m just good at hiding it most of the time. So what <em>do</em> you like in bed? Is there anything you’d like to try? You got any kinks? Any specific little things you like getting done or getting to do? Or dislikes you put up with while biting your tongue?”</p>
<p>Dean often does this. Embeds self-critique inside of another topic to prevent Mike, or people in general, from taking the topic further. Gabe has a gift for holding onto important stuff and keeping the discussion on them like he did when he confronted Nick in the car.</p>
<p>Mike doesn’t share his talent. “I don’t know?” he answers.</p>
<p>“I have one. I love getting my toes sucked, but it also tickles, and if it tickles too much I might accidentally kick you in the face. That’s why I haven’t asked for it. Kick a girl in the face once and you never want it to happen again,” Dean says.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers in horror. “Oh no. What happened?”</p>
<p>“I didn’t kick very hard but she was perched on the edge of the bed and fell backward. I freaked the fuck out and she couldn’t stop laughing. To be fair, it was something she instigated, but still,” Dean says with a sad, lopsided smirk.</p>
<p>“You must’ve felt awful,” Mike chuckles. “I have one. At the edge of the ribs. Soft bites along the edge is incredibly pleasant.”</p>
<p>“I hate degrading dirty talk,” Dean says.</p>
<p>“Yes, I remember. You said you believe every word said about you during sex.”</p>
<p>“Kinda, yeah. But I like boss-ass energy and being told what to do.”</p>
<p>They talk about their likes and dislikes for a while, all while Dean traces the lines of Mike’s face with his fingers as if he’s committing every little part of it to memory. Mike’s heart aches, belly full of flutters and anxiety. He has questions he wants to ask but fears the answer too so as usual, he keeps himself from asking. But talking about sex inevitably leads to sex again, and this time when Dean’s inside of him, Mike says, “I love you.” He repeats it several times, kissing it into Dean’s skin, willing him to believe it, to understand it. He’s scared he’s driving Dean away but it’s important to him that Dean gets that to Mike, it isn’t ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ like it is for Dean.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Steve sits down by the waiting beer Mike had bought for him. “S’up, bro?”</p>
<p>Mike smiles. “Thanks for taking the time. I hope I didn’t tear you away from something important?”</p>
<p>“Nah. And I’m sleeping at Trey’s place tonight. So it’s just around the corner.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Good, good.” Mike holds his beer up for a cheers, realizing how awkward he’s acting. Sure, they’re friendly, but it’s more a matter of hanging out with the same people. This is the first time Mike’s actually asked Steve to grab a beer with him just the two of them.</p>
<p>Steve catches on to how awkward Mike’s feeling, smirks with eyes narrowed in amusement and plays along, holding up his beer then taking a few deep swallows. “A’ight, bro, what’s this about?” he asks and leans back in his chair.</p>
<p>“I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about Dean.”</p>
<p>“<em>Uuh</em>-huh,” Steve answers, smirk still amused but eyes becoming guarded.</p>
<p>“It’s something Gabe said the other day, about Dean and Nick.”</p>
<p>“Oookay?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t noticed it, but I was thinking, since you’re living with them…”</p>
<p>“Yeah…?” Steve says, looking like he’s bracing for something uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“Is Dean violent?”</p>
<p>Steve blinks with a confused frown for a beat then sniggers and shakes his head, looking away. “Alright. Okay. Not the question I saw coming, but fucking relevant I guess,” he says and looks back at Mike with a skeptical smirk. “Yeah. He is. They both are. At times it’s like being back at home and I’m walking of fucking eggshells thinking I’ll set them off if I do or say something wrong. But they’re not like Dad. None of them are. They’ll both hit me on the arm or cuff the back of my head if I use the N-word or call myself a slur, but not hard. Dean gives ample warning before he strikes if it comes to real violence. He says, ‘Enough,’ and if you push he tells he’ll hit you if you don’t stop. I heed those warnings but Nick doesn’t, so he and Dean will have a row occasionally.”</p>
<p>Steve takes another sip of his beer and goes on. “Nick has two bad modes. Violent temper fits, and those are rare, and cold anger that comes off of him in fumes. Those are the ones that have both me and Dean walking on eggshells. If Dean’s not around Nick will tell me almost immediately why he’s a pissy little bitch and give me a wide berth until he’s calmed down. When it comes to Dean it’s a coin toss if he’ll tell Dean or let Dean stew in it.”</p>
<p>Mike frowns, concerned now. “They seem such good friends.”</p>
<p>“They are. But you asked if they’re violent. Other times, like when we’re watching TV or sitting in the kitchen talking, contentment oozes off them. I fucking love that because I’m not used to having that at home. It’s so fucking stupid, because that fucking mommy daddy game they play. Dean and I are the same age. If we’re nitpicking, I’m 20 days older than him. But he feels a lot older a lot of the time and he’s treating me like a little brother or something. Hell if I know, I’ve never had siblings. But they’re both playing house and leaning into the whole ‘adopted babygay’ thing.” Steve shrugs.</p>
<p>“Is my brother good to you? You can tell me if he isn’t. He has some problems and we help each other get over them.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s cool. I found him pouring over some old psychology books a while back. He said he was trying to figure out how best to help us and pointed out pages and said, ‘this is me, and this is me, and this is me,’ like he was some kind of case study. He keeps doing all these little exercises with us to help build confidence and be happy. I appreciate it. Dean sees it like some form of torture.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and looks away, staring at the people by the bar. He bites his lip, hesitates, then asks, “Does he often bring home hookups?”</p>
<p>“Who?”</p>
<p>“Dean.”</p>
<p>“You think he’s cheating on you?” Steve asks, sipping his beer.</p>
<p>Mike looks back at him. “I can think of only a few reasons why he isn’t willing to call me his boyfriend with how he’s acting with me, and one of them is that he wants to be free to fuck around <em>without</em> it being cheating.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, that’s bullshit, isn’t it? Both of you are deeply invested. Either you’ve got an open relationship or you’re cheating when you’re at your level. If I were you I’d give him an ultimatum to commit or fucking forget about it.”</p>
<p>Mike shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I can’t risk him breaking it off. I’d rather not know.”</p>
<p>“I fucking hate cheaters, man. Dad was a notorious cheat.” Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out in a deep sigh. “But, I can honestly say, Dean’s never brought a stranger home to fuck.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Really, really. That’s my job. I’ve brought home four this far. Ryan, a co-worker that turned out to be married, Liam, and Trey,” Steve chuckles.</p>
<p>Mike sniggers. “Nick’s very proud of you for it.”</p>
<p>“I <em>know</em>. He makes a big deal about it but Dean’s ten times worse, ooh-ing and aah-ing like I’m a baby who went to the potty by myself for the first time,” Steve says with an exasperated snigger.</p>
<p>“Somehow, I’m not surprised. Hey, you’re best friends with Annie, right? Is there any way you can talk her out of this folly of theirs to buy an apartment together?”</p>
<p>Steve snorts. “You don’t think I’ve tried? It’s like talking to a wall. I’m like, ‘Hoe, don’t do it,’ and she’s like, ‘Do you think it’s wrong if the girl proposes?’”</p>
<p>Mike laughs.</p>
<p>“I know, right?” Steve says. “Like, fuck sake, <em>chill</em>. But no. They’re so fucking in love it’s disgusting. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy she’s found a good guy for a change. I just think they’re moving too damned fast.”</p>
<p>“Thank you! Finally someone sensible!”</p>
<p>“I’ll drink to that,” Steve says.</p>
<p>They clink their beers together and drink. Mike’s initial awkwardness is gone. Steve’s easy-going enough. Mike dries the foam off his upper lip and asks, “How are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine. What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, it wasn’t that long ago your dad kicked you out. It must’ve been really hard for you. I can’t say I know how you feel because I don’t. But feelings like that don’t just go away over a weekend and Sam’s having enough with his own shit right now. Do you have someone to talk to? How are you holding up?”</p>
<p>Steve shrugs and looks away, tracking a handsome man walking through the bar with his gaze. “I’m fine,” he says. Then, when Mike leaves an extended pause for Steve to fill, he says, “I miss him. I hate the bastard. He hit me, bullied me, and acted like a fucktard in general, but… I miss him, and think of him every day.” He turns his head to look at Mike with guarded and curious eyes, as if he is unsure how Mike will react.</p>
<p>“Understandably. I’m sure that wasn’t all he was and you’re allowed to mourn the loss of your dad, however he treated you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? Aside from Sam, everyone gets upset when I say I miss him.”</p>
<p>Mike shrugs. “The world isn’t black and white. People are complex. Nick’s the person who’s gotten me into the most trouble over the years, and done a lot of shitty things to us, at the same time he’s the most die-hard loyal and unconditionally loving person I know. He’d be the first one to drop anything and come to your help. He’d donate both his kidneys if we would need them. He’s already changed his will so you and Dean get the house if he dies. He makes dumb choices and angst over them just to make the same dumb choices all over again. By that I mean to say you don’t have to justify to me why you miss your dad despite what he’s done. Do you want to talk about the parts of him you miss? Or do you want me to talk you out of missing him?”</p>
<p>The corner of Steve’s lip pulls up in a skeptical half-smile. He scrutinizes Mike for a couple of seconds before he seems to come to a conclusion. “A’ight. So, dad jokes are a thing. I hate them and love them in equal measures. Dad used to…”</p>
<p>They end up talking for two hours while Steve paints a picture of his dad that’s much more complex than just an awful monster Steve was terrified of. When they say goodbye Mike would say they’ve moved their relationship to the next level of friendship.</p>
<p>Yet, on his way home Mike’s head is full of Dean as usual.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to write a good end note here, but I'm dead tired and have to study like mad writing a paper and memorize stuff for my final on Thursday. Figure your comments about the story might perk me up while I study. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. NICK</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No matter how many tools you have to keep your mental health in check, if you're not firmly rooted in good thought patterns it's way too easy to spiral into darkness. Nick knows all about that and a few minor setbacks nudge him into a bad headspace he's all too familiar with.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warnings:</b><br/>-mentions of suicide<br/>-mentions of past childhood trauma<br/>-fleeting self-harm (no cutting)<br/>-self-destructive tendencies<br/>-tiny, incomplete lesson in the history of psychology as a science</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Dean stands leaned forward elbows on the counter and the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. He radiates misery.</p>
<p>Nick leans against the door post waiting for Dean to discover him, but Dean doesn’t notice. “What’s wrong?” he asks.</p>
<p>Dean inhales in surprise and stands up straight. Nick can see his expression switch from despair to an amused grin. “Hey, Honey. Nothing’s wrong.”</p>
<p>Nick scowls and leaves his place by the door to stride towards Dean. “No, no, no. Unacceptable.” He stops in front of Dean, spreads his fingers wide and puts his hand over Dean’s face, grabbing, then pulling back his hand as if he’s still holding Dean’s face. “Mask <em>off</em>,” he says. He frowns deeply when Dean’s still grinning. He puts his hand over Dean’s face again. “Maaask… <em>off</em>,” he repeats and pulls his hand back again as if removing an actual mask. This time, Dean drops his smile. “Good. Now tell me what’s wrong,” Nick instructs.</p>
<p>“It’s nothing, okay? It’s your brother. But it’s dumb. It's nothing,” Dean says and looks at the floor.</p>
<p>“What did he do this time?”</p>
<p>“<em>Nothing.</em> He apologized about YouTube,” Dean says and turns to lean his ass against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.</p>
<p>Nick gasps theatrically. “How <em>dare</em>! The audacity of some!”</p>
<p>“I told you it was nothing. And he said he loves me,” Dean says, scraping with a foot on an imaginary spot on the floor.</p>
<p>“No wonder you’re upset,” Nick jokes sarcastically.</p>
<p>Dean huffs and smiles sadly at his feet. “Yeah…”</p>
<p>“You already knew he loves you. That didn’t come as a surprise to you. I’m finding it hard to make the logical jumps needed to understand why that upsets you with the information you’re giving me. Please, humor me, explain yourself,” Nick says, serious now, and leans his back against the counter beside Dean, mirroring his position.</p>
<p>Dean sways indecisively from side to side before he stills and answers. “I was stupid, okay? He apologized and it seemed so fucking genuine so I, I opened up a little bit. I tried to explain to him why it’s so hard for me to give him the level of commitment he wants when we see each other so seldom. I hoped― I thought… maybe he’d get it, and would sacrifice a little more time with me, that’s all. But he didn’t. And I was dumb to think he would.”</p>
<p>“It’s just for a couple of weeks more, darling. You’ll see that he’ll spend a lot more time with you once he’s back to a normal 9 to 5. He’s just busy right now,” Nick comforts.</p>
<p>“Yeah, then why did he have time to go out and drink with Steve?” Dean snipes annoyedly, catches himself and holds his hands up in surrender, looking at the floor with slight distress on his face as if he thinks he’s spoken out of line.</p>
<p>There’s an ember of greed blossoming in Nick’s chest. That little crack in Dean’s facade is just big enough to wedge in a crowbar and pry open to pour in poison that will drive Dean away from Mike and into Nick’s arms and bed. Dean’s ripe for manipulation. A few choice words is all it would take.</p>
<p>
  <em>Stop it. Mike’s in love with him and it won’t do anyone any good if you go down that route again.</em>
</p>
<p>Nick hums and pulls at his lower lip thoughtfully. With great regret, he chooses to be a good brother. “You don’t want him to have friends?”</p>
<p>“Of course I do, don’t be a dumbass.”</p>
<p>“Then what’s the problem? Are you jealous?” Nick asks as if Dean hadn’t already told him exactly what the problem was.</p>
<p>“No. He’s not my boyfriend, he can do whateverfuck he wants. Forget I said anything. I told you it was dumb.”</p>
<p>“Upholding friendships while in a relationship is important, darling. It would be an asshole move if you want to isolate your partner. I thought better of you than that. If you want to control your lovers―”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>. Jeezuz. Forget it. He can hang with whoever he wants whenever he wants,” Dean says annoyedly. “I don’t care. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to work now.” Dean pushes away from the counter and heads for the door. He’s leaving at least 30 minutes early.</p>
<p>Nick remains leaned against the counter, listening to the door and then Dean’s car starting. A few choice words and he’s made Dean the asshole. He understands very well what Dean was fretting about. Why did Mike spend his limited energy and free time on Steve instead of Dean? It’s a huge anomaly and Nick vows to ask Mike why he’d gone for a beer with Steve. He’s sure Dean’s blowing it out of all proportions simply because he feels rejected. Nick knows all about that. But he’s also sure Mike isn’t creeping so he must’ve had a good reason.</p>
<p>
  <em>Mike, you better be grateful. All I’d have to do was be understanding and be here. Instead, I let him be the bad guy for feeling rejected. I did that for you.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck!</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>Nick’s fingers dance over the strings in one of the best solos he’s played in ages, but Steve isn’t there to stop drumming to look at him with that lopsided smirk and go, ‘<em>Bro!</em>’ and Dean isn’t there to go, ‘Woah! Fucking <em>awesome</em>!’ with wide, enchanted eyes when he lets the last notes fade out. There’s no invasion of young adults, Gabe is busy doing who knows what with Annie, Mike’s probably sitting at home writing music by his piano or lying on his bed listening to music with his headphones on. Hey, maybe Mike played it smart and went to watch Dean at work? If he did, everything that he broke by having a beer with Steve will be mended. Good for him.</p>
<p>Ella, the selfish bitch, has a date tonight, too busy to entertain Nick’s sorry ass. Her lovelife is going decently well, despite the difficulty of dating someone with a sex drive. Ella’s new girlfriend is named Billie Reaper and the way Ella had described her, Nick had expected someone sprightly. But he’d gotten to talk to her for a few minutes today when he called just before they were off to their date and the woman came through as dead-serious and perpetually unimpressed. Seemingly, Billie’s serious enough about Ella that they’ve talked a lot about Ella’s trauma and are working on alternative ways to resolve the sex bit. Ella’s bringing her to Dad’s for their early thanksgiving on Wednesday. Good for her.</p>
<p>The house is so empty he can hear every creak and hum it makes if he’s not making sounds of his own. He’d gotten used to it.</p>
<p>It sucks to find out how quickly he’d gotten <em>un</em>-used to it.</p>
<p>The loneliness is soul-crushing.</p>
<p>Sam hasn’t answered his text.</p>
<p>He puts down his guitar and connects his phone to the speakers, finding a karaoke playlist on Spotify. He checks the mic then searches for songs he never lets anyone hear him sing, then hits play. Sad piano begins to play, Nick waits for his cue and begins to sing. “<em>Every now and then I get a little bit lonely, and you're never coming 'round... Every now and then I get a little bit tired, of listening to the sound of my tears…</em>”</p>
<p>Nick hates when he does this. He knows it’s better for him to play angry songs or even peppy ones when he’s like this. ‘Total eclipse of the Heart’ by Bonnie Taylor invites demons he wants to keep at bay. They’re always there of course. But that’s no reason to dance with them. “<em>I don’t know what to do, I’m always in the dark…</em>”</p>
<p>Steve is a temporary visitor here. He’ll find his footing and move out, grab a beer with Nick now and then but he’ll go on to bigger, better things, leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake caused by his refusal to fake emotions he doesn’t have, until he finds a boyfriend that suits him and they’ll live happily forever after.</p>
<p>Dean will move in with Mike eventually. They’re a fucking perfect match even if Dean’s still too terrified to see it. But Nick knows, because Dean and Nick are so alike and that means Mike’s rock-solid loyalty, ability to forgive fuckups, and to love even when the love is undeserved will win out in the end. Dean’s outgoing personality will challenge Mike and let him grow, their shared interests will prevent Dean from getting bored of Mike’s musical nerdiness. It’s too early for them to settle down right now. Dean’s in the middle of a major life-crisis that will get a million times worse the day Sam tells him ‘Dad raped me.’ Dean will snap into denial because believing Sam will mean not only that their dad abused both of them, but that Dean failed at the one thing he shaped his whole identity around - to protect Sam. The rest of their friends will stand in shock at Dean’s vehement denial that’ll shatter Sam’s heart, but Mike will be there for Dean like he was there for Nick every time Nick’s emotional reaction wasn’t what was expected from a good person. Mike’s love will win out.</p>
<p>Nick will be here, alone again.</p>
<p>“<em>Once upon a time I was falling in love, But now I'm only falling apart. There's nothing I can do, A total eclipse of the heart…</em>”</p>
<p>Nick wonders if Mike will be there to yank the gun out of Dean’s hand when Dean puts it against his own temple to end the cognitive dissonance Sam’s confession will create.</p>
<p>His eyes sting so he presses his fingers against them to stop the tears from coming.</p>
<p>Sam wants a dog. Nick will give him a menagerie if that’s what it takes. And when Sam’s too busy to care for them, Nick will make sure the animals get all the attention and care they need. Sam will probably want a golden retriever. Nick fucking hates golden retrievers. Not only are they boring to look at but they eat fucking everything and if a puddle exists in a one-mile radius of them they will find a way to roll in it. It’s the fucking law. People see them on TV and want one. They hear ‘good family dog’ and think the animal comes out like that from the womb, not realizing the hard work and training it takes to socialize them, then they’re surprised when the dog bites the kids.</p>
<p>Nick fucking hated Rosie, his family’s dog growing up. Rosie slept in his big sister’s bed and trailed her like a shadow most of the time. Rosie had no patience with Nick’s loud temper fits and his parents didn’t take the time to teach either of them how to co-exist peacefully.</p>
<p>His uncle’s dog, Aleksei, on the other hand… His uncle was good with animals and to this day what he taught Nick about how to care for animals is the philosophy Nick holds on to. Aleksei was a huge, black Reisenschnauzer that lived with his uncle’s family out of state most of the time. His name meant ‘defender’ and Nick can still remember how the dog, usually so loyal to his uncle, had stepped between his uncle and Nick, growling, showing teeth one time when Nick had been really scared of his uncle touching him. His uncle never punished Alexei for that, but the dog didn’t get to spend as much time living with his uncle after that.</p>
<p>Nick shuts off Spotify and leaves the music room. He goes upstairs to his bedroom and stops by his bookcase. He’s got five new books about psychology he wants to read to better be able to help his boys. Sam. His heart aches and his house feels big, empty, <em>lonely</em>. Sam thinks he wants to live with Nick but he doesn’t. He won’t want that when he’s come a bit further down the road to healing.</p>
<p>Sam’s such a good person. Nick can barely make himself apologize for obvious wrongdoings, but Sam’s told fucking everybody what he did to Nick, not only owning up to it, but asking them what he can do to never again put anyone in that position. ‘I never once said no, even when I didn’t want to have sex. How do I recognize that in others so I don’t inadvertently put them in that position?’</p>
<p>Sam will become another lost love, just like Aze.</p>
<p>Instead of taking out one of the books he grabs a photo album and sits on the bed, slowly flipping through the pages of pictures of Azazel. His eyes keep blurring, his throat constricting, preventing him from drawing breath. He longs for drugs. Any drug. Just to chase the loneliness away.</p>
<p>He thinks of Chuck. Of getting pissed off at him while they were in the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the chopping board and slamming Chuck against the wall, pressing the knife against his throat screaming he would kill him. Chuck hadn’t been afraid. He’d looked sad. ‘It’s unfortunate if it comes to that. But I want you to know, Nicky bug, I love you, and I forgive you. Will you help care for the boys when I’m gone? They’ll have a hard time doing it by themselves.’</p>
<p>Nick had thrown the knife on the floor, screaming that he hated Chuck, and stormed out.</p>
<p>The photo album slides out of Nick’s grip to the floor and Nick curls into a fetal position on the bed, gripping his hair with both hands until it hurts and gives in to the sobs.</p>
<p>He thinks of Irina, his older sister, and wonders what became of her. He doesn’t think of her often. She was just there, a mean, grey mouse in the background who’d reprimand him more sternly than his parents for acting out, who kept things neat and did exceptionally well in school, never asking for anything. Knowing what he knows now, it was just an adaptation to living in the shadow of their parents’ addiction. He wonders if she ever thinks of him and wonders what became of him.</p>
<p>Probably not.</p>
<p>When mom was sober she’d sing Nick to sleep. Nick doesn’t remember it happening that often, but Irina said she used to do it all the time when Irina was little. There was a six-year age gap between them. Six years of alcohol rotting his parents’ brains.</p>
<p>Back before <em>it</em> started Nick would come running at breakneck speed to throw himself in his uncle’s arms anytime his uncle came visiting, thinking his uncle was the best adult to ever have lived. He loved his uncle with the force of the sun. He remembers the exhilaration he felt when they told him his uncle was moving into a house just a few houses away. If he’d only known it meant that precious love and unquestioning trust would be stolen from him.</p>
<p>When Nick turned 18 he’d sent in the papers for a name change to make his name, Nicholas, his real name. He’s a few days short of 30 and his birth name still holds power over him. Dean uses it spitefully anytime Nick oversteps their banter in public and Dean gets defensive. ‘<em>Nicolai</em>’. Dean can’t know. It’s impossible. Nick hasn’t told him he’s named after his uncle and anytime Dean uses the name, Nick has to stop himself from physically flinching.</p>
<p>Nick fists his hand and hits his skull repeatedly to get his brain to <em>stop</em>. It doesn’t work. He rolls from side to side, crying loudly, pleading, ‘No, no, no! Please stop! Please stop!’ to the empty house.</p>
<p>He cries himself into exhaustion and stills.</p>
<p>He hates to be alone.</p>
<p>He wishes Sam was here so he could hold him.</p>
<p>The longing for Sam is so intense he wants to throw up.</p>
<p>He looks at his phone. Sam still hasn’t answered his text, but Dean’s sent a text saying he won’t sleep at home tonight.</p>
<p>
  <em>So Mikey got his ducks in a row and went to watch Dean, huh? Good for them.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bad for me. I’ll be alone forever and ever. Ugly on the inside and unlovable.</em>
</p>
<p>In a desperate attempt to dispel his loneliness he calls Steve.</p>
<p>“Hey, bro. S’up?” Steve answers. Nick can hear people in the background.</p>
<p>“Hey. The house is empty. Where are you?”</p>
<p>“I’m at The Anchor with Trey and Sam and a couple of others.”</p>
<p>“Oh, good. I’m bored out of my mind. I’ll come join you,” Nick says.</p>
<p>“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, bro,” Steve answers.</p>
<p>“Don’t want me to impose on your date, Darlin’?” Nick drawls sarcastically.</p>
<p>“Nah, bro, that’s not it. I― You know what? Fuck it. Fuck it all. You wanna come here, you’re welcome to.”</p><hr/>
<p>Maybe Nick should’ve stopped to consider why Steve of all people didn’t think it was a good idea that Nick came. If he did, maybe it wouldn’t come as such a shock when he arrives and he sees Sam sitting with Claire under his arm, currently kissing her. He stops dead going cold all over, then turns on his heel to step outside so he can breathe.</p>
<p>No wonder Sam isn’t answering his texts if he’s on a fucking date with someone else.</p>
<p>Anger hits him like a truck once the first shock passes. He walks around to the back of the building to the parking lot where Sam ran that night Dean found them. There he stops by the dumpster and gives it a few hard kicks to get the anger out of his system.</p>
<p>He knows Sam seeks pleasure with others. And why shouldn’t he? Nick’s constantly turning him down.</p>
<p>Right now he’s got trouble remembering why.</p>
<p><em>Because he’s a kid that ties his value to whether or not people get to use him for sex,</em> the Mikey-voice in his head reminds him.</p>
<p>That’s right. If Nick fucks Sam now, Sam will always have that nagging doubt about Nick’s true feelings for him. And if there’s one fucking person on this planet Nick wants to do right by, it’s Sam.</p>
<p>He takes a couple of deep breaths then heads back inside. Steve spots him and gives him a nod in greeting. Nick comes to sit down by the short end of their table and looks at Sam. “Well, well, well. So that’s why you’re not answering my text?” he drawls.</p>
<p>Sam pulls away from Claire with a jerk, face snapping in Nick’s direction. “Nick! You’re here!” he exclaims as if that makes him extremely happy. “You’ve texted? Shit.” Sam digs up his phone and makes a face of frustration. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t seen it. I turned the sound off during therapy and forgot to switch it on again.”</p>
<p>Sam withdraws his arm from Claire and turns his body towards Nick like a flower towards the sun. Claire crosses her arms over her chest like a sulky teenager, leaning back in her seat. Nick’s first feeling is immense satisfaction at seeing Claire’s annoyed glower. It’s all too easy to imagine the hurt rejection she’s feeling. He reminds himself that doing right by Sam is helping him become a good, well-adapted adult, not turning him into an asshole.</p>
<p>Nick tuts. “Sam, that’s no way to treat your date. Do I need to call Dean and tell him to give you another lecture on date etiquette?”</p>
<p>Sam sucks in a short breath of surprise but puts his arm back around Claire, who frowns in confusion at him.</p>
<p>Out of spite, Nick smiles at Claire. “Claire, nice to see you haven’t ODd yet,” he says.</p>
<p>“That’s uncalled for,” Sam says and frowns at him. “She’s been sober for a month now.”</p>
<p>“Get back to me when you’ve been sober for a year, then we can talk,” Nick says, directing himself towards Claire, then he turns his attention to the other side of the table. “Treyvon, Nice to see you again,” he says and offers his hand to shake.</p>
<p>“Nick was it, right? Call me Trey. Steve’s told me so much about you,” Trey says with a slick smile as they shake hands.</p>
<p>Nick pulls down the corners of his mouth in a non-verbal ‘Yikes!’ “All bad, I suppose?”</p>
<p>“Nah, bro. He told me what you did for him when he came out. Respect. All of us are hitting the gym tomorrow morning. Wanna join?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Thanks for the offer but, and no offense meant whatsoever, I’d rather die if that’s alright with you,” Nick answers, getting rewarded with laughter.</p>
<p>“You sure about that, hotshot?” Claire says with a smirk. “I’ll be going with them. Sam’s sleeping at my place tonight.”</p>
<p>Nick seethes. “I’m not his parole officer, sweetheart. You want to choke on his dick, go ahead,” he answers mock-sweetly.</p>
<p>“Nick,” Steve says and gives him <em>a look</em>.</p>
<p>It’s enough for Nick to rein himself in.</p>
<p>The evening isn’t entirely unpleasant. Andy, Lisa, and Brady show up and Nick moves to the bench next to Sam so they’re sitting pressed close, Nick’s arm resting on the backrest behind both Sam and Claire. He remains mostly quiet, listening to the others talk, hating how his belly fills with butterflies every time Sam smiles at him, hating the hurt feeling in his chest. He knows he put it there himself by constantly saying no to Sam, but he feels unlovable and rejected all the same.</p>
<p>He pays attention to Steve and Trey. Trey’s gaydar is flawless. The same can’t be said for Steve. When Steve’s by the bar ordering drinks after having been to the toilet, a guy strikes up conversation with him. Now, Steve never bothered to install a gaydar so he’s oblivious to the flirting, but Trey sees it and slides out of his seat to go wrap an arm around Steve, giving the man a show of teeth that might be interpreted as a smile. Possessive.</p>
<p>He touches Steve one way or another every chance he gets. His words don’t align with the possessive way he treats Steve. They openly talk about recent hookups and Trey shows no apparent signs of being in love as such, but Steve is a prize he doesn’t want to share.</p>
<p>“Bro, this ain’t a gay club. You going to keep this up, I’ll end up breaking into a cold sweat. Being out is fucking dangerous,” Steve says after Trey kisses him.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you, Baby,” Trey promises cockily.</p>
<p>Steve snorts. “You wouldn’t be much of use if we were at Pulse,” he mutters, referencing the 49 people that got shot dead at a gay club last year.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, Baby, you know you like it,” Trey says with that slick smile of his, all perfect teeth.</p>
<p>Steve’s lips pull up in a corner in a crooked smirk. “Yeah, I do,” he admits and lets Trey kiss him again.</p>
<p>Nick tries to evaluate their dynamics psychologically but winds up just feeling lonely surrounded by couples, knowing Gabe has Annie and Mike’s with Dean. Under the table, Sam takes his hand. It sends a nervous flutter through him but somehow does nothing to dispel his loneliness.</p>
<p>When The Anchor closes they stand outside hailing cabs. Before Sam and Claire have the chance to go, Nick grabs Sam and pulls him in for a kiss. Claire lets out a, ‘Hey!’ in protest. Nick pulls back a little bit to grab her and bend down to kiss her too. He’s expecting a slap but she kisses back, reminding him what a horny little minx she is. He has a charitable thought, hoping she manages to stay sober, wanting the best for her, remembering in a vivid flash what a great lay she is. “You kids have fun now,” Nick says and lets go of Claire to stroke Sam’s hair out of his face, amused at how confused Sam looks.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome to join us,” Claire offers.</p>
<p>“Tempting, but no,” Nick answers, then, to Sam, “You coming over tomorrow night?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay,” Sam says with a bemused smile.</p>
<p>“Good.” Nick gives Sam one more kiss―it’s too hard to resist―then steps away and heads towards another empty cab. Behind him, he hears Claire say, ‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ and Sam answering, ‘Yeah, no, neither did I.’</p>
<p>Luckily, Nick’s too drunk to have any problem falling asleep when he gets home.</p>
<p>The next morning Nick’s in the kitchen nursing his hangover making coffee when he hears a car park outside. Not long after the entrance door opens and Mike calls out, “Good morning?”</p>
<p>“For you, maybe,” Nick grumps.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and comes into the kitchen. “Somebody didn’t clock in his 8 hours of beauty sleep,” he remarks with a cheeky smile.</p>
<p>Nick glowers at him.</p>
<p>Mike heads for the coffee maker and grabs a cup from a cupboard. “Has Dean woken up yet?” he asks.</p>
<p>Nick turns cold all over. “He went into town on a couple of errands,” he drones disinterestedly to hide his shock. “You didn’t go see him work yesterday?”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and pours himself a cup of coffee. “I wish. I didn’t leave the office until almost midnight. I was so tired I didn’t even dare to drive home. It’s the price I had to pay for getting a day off on Wednesday.” He shrugs. “Didn’t even take my clothes off before I fell asleep. How ‘bout you? Had a nice night?”</p>
<p>“Lovely. Had a couple of drinks with Sam and Steve and the gang.”</p>
<p>“Just a couple?” Mike teases and sips his coffee, eyes bright and chipper.</p>
<p>“A couple at a time,” Nick jokes, pulse rushing in his ears.</p>
<p>“That explains why you’re a ray of sunshine,” Mike grins. “Hey, listen, you remember ‘Shadow of your Heart’? I had some ideas on how to make it better and I want to run them past you, but you’re clearly not awake enough to give musical input. So I’m going to go plunk on the piano and you’ll join me when you’re ready?”</p>
<p>‘Shadow of your Heart’ is one of Michael’s songs and it’s about growing up in the shadow of addiction. He wrote it about his mother but it applies to Nick’s family as well and Nick fucking hates it because he <em>feels</em> it. Every time Mike pokes at it he manages to drag up another childhood memory in Nick’s brain. Not the awful memories, but the good ones that hurt ten times more because it makes him wonder ‘Why was I not enough?’, putting the guilt on the young child for parental neglect. It’s not Mike’s intention. He just writes about the pain of loving someone who’ll never love you back. It’s the first song he wrote that Nick knows of, but Mike’s never been truly happy with it and he keeps poking at it bi-yearly, making it less and less specific and more open to personal interpretation.</p>
<p>Nick makes a ‘go ahead’ gesture and waits until Mike’s left the kitchen until he fishes up his phone out of the pocket to send a text.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Me:</b> Mike’s here. I told him you’d gone into town running errands.</tt>
</p>
<p>The answer comes almost instantly.</p>
<p>
  <tt><b>Dean Winchester:</b> Thanks. On my way.</tt>
</p>
<p>Nick pockets his phone and stares at nothing.</p>
<p>Dean didn’t sleep at Mike’s tonight.</p>
<p>It shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’d felt rejected and then been shamed for feeling that way, so if he’s anything like Nick―which he is―he’d go out and do something stupid to make his actions match the feeling inside. He might not be deliberately contrarian like Nick but it amounts to the same. It’s not even new behavior. Anytime Mike made Dean feel unwanted he’d ended up in bed with someone else. The difference now is that Nick’s emotionally invested. He didn’t mean to be. It’s a side-effect of having fucked. Of having fucking <em>connected</em>.</p>
<p>For minutes he stands there trying to calm himself. He’s overheated and cold, his pulse rushing loudly in his ears. He clenches and unclenches his fists.</p>
<p>He can barely think coherently, his inside is just a mess of anger and hurt, rapidly building up like a pressure boiler. He struggles to tamper it down. He doesn’t want to.</p>
<p>He takes two long strides forward, grabs a chair by the backrest and smashes it against the wall with all the force he can muster repeatedly until there’s nothing left but splinters. He drops the remnants of the backrest and steps away, surveying the mess he’s made.</p>
<p>He crosses an arm against his chest, leans his other elbow on top of it, and pulls at his lower lip, hit by guilt and deep-seated shame over the destruction. Somebody will have to clean that up. The chair will have to be replaced and the wallpaper is damaged. He’ll have to make up a plausible lie as to why he did that. People will judge him. He’s a loathsome person with no impulse control and it’s no wonder he ends up single anytime he dates someone for more than a couple of weeks. This is the bullshit he wants to protect Sam from. Nobody should have to deal with this crap.</p>
<p>He hears Mike come running but doesn’t move. His instant impulse is to hide the mess and pretend nothing happened. He knows it wouldn’t work. At the very least Mike would notice the missing chair and the damaged wall.</p>
<p>Mike comes into the kitchen and stops, taking in the broken chair with wide eyes before he looks at Nick. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Nick answers nonchalantly.</p>
<p>“<em>Nick</em>,” Mike says, voice chiding, “what―”</p>
<p>“<b>I didn’t do anything!</b>” Nick screams in a flare of temper. He hisses and bites his bent index finger to calm himself. “I <em>didn’t</em> do anything. Sometimes inaction is the problem,” he says, voice quietly restrained this time.</p>
<p>Mike’s expression goes concerned and compassionate.</p>
<p>
  <em>Great. Pity. Just what I need.</em>
</p>
<p>Mike walks up to him and stops in front of him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>It’s tempting to throw Dean under the bus.</p>
<p>It would change absolutely nothing except hurt Mike. When Dean gets home Mike will pretend he doesn’t know Dean stayed the night with someone else. If Nick tried to take his anger out on Dean, Mike would defend Dean, saying something awful like, ‘He never promised anything, he doesn’t love me,’ and both Nick and Dean would mentally stagger from the pain the words caused. Dean would vow never to do it again. He’d last a shorter time than ever before he fell back into bed with someone else. Fucking around is just another form of OCDing to him, a way to prove to himself he’s worthless and to seek intimacy he doesn’t think he deserves. It would improve <em>nothing</em>.</p>
<p>“I surprised Sam by dropping by the Anchor yesterday. He had a date,” Nick says. It’s a reasonable thing to be upset about. He isn’t, it just makes him feel lonely, but he can hardly tell Mike the actual reason.</p>
<p>“Ouch. I’m sorry, Nick.”</p>
<p>“No, no. It’s a good thing. He should be out there dating girls around his own age. Doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing it.”</p>
<p>“Still―”</p>
<p>“Am I the only one who gets that if I want a future with Sam I’ll have to wait years to get started?” Nick interrupts annoyedly. “You keep saying I’m good to the boy, but that’s it, isn’t it? He’s a boy. The more he comes into himself the clearer that is to me. Fuck the sexual aspects, I want to be his boyfriend, not his mentor. His brain won’t even be fully developed for about seven more years. His dad kept him isolated and infantilized so he’s still learning basic people skills, and here I am, compulsively manipulating and suckering anyone stupid enough to give me their affection. Do you see how badly I could fuck things up with him if I don’t wait?”</p>
<p>Nick shoulders past Mike and goes on, walking towards the music room, Mike following behind. “I need him to be a man if I’m going to pursue him. The best thing for everyone involved would be if he found someone else. You’re the lucky one. The neurotic fucker you fell in love with has a ton of baggage and will do loads of dumb shit because of it, but he, at least, has social skills. You just have to be a permanent fixture in his life and eventually, he’ll settle. Sam and I? We’re a coin toss if we’ll stand a chance or not. Speaking of, why did you have a beer with Steve?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Mike chuckles, flustered, “he told you about that, huh?”</p>
<p>“No. Dean did.”</p>
<p>Mike goes to sit by the piano, fingers starting to dance over the keys. Nike recognizes the song and thankfully it isn’t Shadow of your Heart. “I wanted to ask Steve if Dean was violent. Because of Gabe’s concerns.”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes. “I told you he isn’t.”</p>
<p>Mike smiles, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yes, but I don’t trust your judgment on the matter. You’ll wave off violence that could be fatal and tell us you provoked it. Which you might have, by all means, but that’s no excuse.”</p>
<p>“Just because I’ve had a couple of minor arguments with my girlfriends doesn’t mean I can’t assess risk properly.”</p>
<p>Mike, the asshole, outright laughs at him. “Right. Right. I’ll remind you of that the next time I have to patch you up. I’ve always wondered why you never saw a woman throwing china at you as a deterrent for a relationship, but I get it now. The heart makes dumb choices. Technically, I didn’t need to ask Steve since it has no bearing on my choices, but I wanted to mentally prepare myself for the risks. Looked up a couple of family therapists too, checking their references, just in case.”</p>
<p>“You think you could convince Dean to go to couples counseling with you?” Nick asks and goes to hang his guitar on his chest, starting to play along with the song Mike’s playing without switching on the amplifier.</p>
<p>“I think so. He’s a genuinely good person under all of those defense mechanisms.”</p>
<p>Nick hums. “Perhaps. He’s so in love with you you might convince him of anything.”</p>
<p>Mike chuckles and shakes his head. “He’s not.” His smile turns sly. “But he will be.”</p>
<p>The deviously purred sentence takes Nick by surprise. He barks a short laugh. “How do you figure?”</p>
<p>“Dean explained to me how important time spent together is to him. In a few weeks my workload will go back to normal and I’ll have all the time in the world to spend with him. If he really is into me he’ll be begging to be my boyfriend in no time when I give him the time he deserves. I’ll blow all other competition out of the water.”</p>
<p>Nick laughs at the uncharacteristic show of confidence. “How can you be so sure?”</p>
<p>Mike’s hands still on the keyboard. He bends his neck and his smile wavers, cheeks coloring. “Um, I- I- I- d-did something buh-bad.”</p>
<p>Nick stops playing too, excited and intrigued by the sudden show of guilt intense enough to make Mike stutter. “Please, do tell.”</p>
<p>“You know those n-notebooks of his? His to-do lists?”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh?”</p>
<p>“He showed me one but only he-he-held it open on a page. Didn’t let me read.”</p>
<p>“Uuuh-huh?” Nick encourages, seeing where this is going but delighting in the confession.</p>
<p>“When he was asleep, I- I- I-, um,” Mike stops to swallow, shame written all over his face.</p>
<p>“Why, Mike, you dog. You took a page out of my playbook and breached his privacy,” Nick hedges delightedly.</p>
<p>Mike shrugs sheepishly, then smiles. “I noticed patterns. He had written ‘Mike date?’ anytime he’s asked me out. When I said yes he crossed everything out after it and drew hearts around my name. If I said no there were usually things he’d missed to do afterward, so I’m concluding it got an emotional reaction. I’m thinking he’s into me. I’m the only one he’s written in date plans for. And now I know how he plans his days and what he likes to do. I’ve made date plans, looked up courses we could take together and checked with the organizers if they’d allow video documentation of it to be posted on YouTube. Accidentally got my colleagues and Charlie involved.”</p>
<p>Nick has to sit down on the stool behind him, unfairly blown away. He’s both thrilled and filled with seething jealousy. “You hate being on camera,” he states. “And now you’ll allow your dates to be uploaded for the world to see?”</p>
<p>“If that’s what it takes? Dean’s becoming famous. One of our interns had a freakout when she heard I was dating <em>the</em> Dean Winchester. I had a good, long think about what it would mean to date a celebrity, and I’ll probably need hermit-days to make up for it, but… if I can handle Gabe’s negotiation pranks I can handle fame. And if Gabe goes through with the insane impulse to buy that apartment, I figured we could convince him to use one of the rooms as a recording studio. They’re planning to build a mezzanine anyway, so space-wise they can afford it. And if we can record good quality sound I can write music for Dean’s videos. Be more involved.”</p>
<p>Nick’s heart squeezes painfully. It’s a fucking great idea. But if they get access to a music studio in a roomy apartment in the city, Nick’s home won’t be party central anymore and he’ll be alone alone alone.</p>
<p>He hates it.</p>
<p>“That’s a great idea,” he says with a smile.</p>
<p>“I know. But don’t tell Dean about it. He told me that he has awful anxiety anytime someone promises something, expecting to be let down. I figured that I would keep my mouth shut until work calms down, that way he’ll be positively surprised instead of bracing for disappointment.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got it all figured out,” Nick smirks, stands up, and switches the amplifier on.</p>
<p>“You think it’ll work?”</p>
<p>“Probably. Unless someone else gets in the way,” Nick concedes and starts playing the song Mike had played while they discussed the risk of domestic abuse and Dean. Mike starts playing along and Nick leans forward towards the mic and starts singing, “<em>My name is Luka. I live on the second floor…</em>”</p>
<p>As he sings ‘Luka’ by Suzanne Vega Nick struggles to keep bitterness and jealousy in check. Mike’s moving in on <em>his</em> boy and when Mike starts courting Dean in earnest Nick can say goodbye to all the delicious tension and needy attention Dean bestows on him.</p><hr/>
<p>It takes three hours before Nick finally has the chance to corner Dean alone. Gabe and Annie are here already and Steve’s come home too, carrying the promise of a full house tonight. Dean’s been a good boy and cleaned up the broken chair unasked almost immediately after arriving home. Now he’s taken a break from their jam session to cook dinner for everyone. When he heads outside to throw some stuff in the compost Nick corners him.</p>
<p>Nick blocks his way with an arm against the wall, making Dean’s chest bounce against it.</p>
<p>Dean turns to face him head-on. “What’s up?” he asks guardedly.</p>
<p>Nick crowds closer and puts his other hand on the wall too, boxing Dean in. “Where were you last night?”</p>
<p>Dean hesitates.</p>
<p>Nick tilts his head. “New rule. From now on you don’t just tell me that you won’t be coming home, you tell me who you’re with and where you are. If you don’t, I will find out one way or another. You already know I don’t give a fuck about respecting privacy,” he says calmly. “So, where were you?”</p>
<p>“I was with Jason.”</p>
<p>“Jason?”</p>
<p>“The lawyer we met at the gay club.”</p>
<p>Nick’s finger twitch with the impulse to form a fist and suckerpunch Dean in the belly. It remains firmly planted on the wall. He hums. “Was he any good?” He steps closer, bending his arms so they’re nearly chest to chest and Dean’s back hits the wall. “Tell me, did he fuck you as good as Mikey does? As well as I fuck you?” he says, voice deceptively mild considering the ragestorm within.</p>
<p>Dean opens his mouth to speak but closes it and averts his face.</p>
<p>“No, no. Tell me what you don’t want me to know. Let’s hear it,” Nick urges.</p>
<p>Dean swallows, hesitates again, then says, “I asked him to keep his suit on. He said no. He didn’t want to get stains on it.”</p>
<p>One big blow to Dean’s barely there self-worth. Nick can imagine the humiliation of getting that innocuous request denied. It comes with a surge of malicious pleasure. But Dean gave Nick what he asked for and told him what he doesn’t want Nick to know, so Nick feighs surprise. “He doesn’t wash his clothes?”</p>
<p>Dean’s lips twitch in uncertain amusement.</p>
<p>Nick tips his head back and scrunches up his face. “Or he only has one suit? He’s not a very good lawyer then. You need to raise your standards. Do proper background checks,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Dean smiles and looks back at Nick, only to discover how close it puts their faces.</p>
<p>“Explain to me, darlin,” Nick drawls, “why I had the whole house to myself, when I could’ve had you squirming in pleasure underneath me last night. Because I only have a limited number of chairs and the next time I might not lie to my brother about why I broke one.”</p>
<p>“You said we weren’t gonna do it anymore,” Dean counters.</p>
<p>“No-<em>oo</em>,” Nick answers with mock patience. “I said we <em>shouldn’t</em>. There’s a notable and important difference.”</p>
<p>Dean licks his lips and looks at Nick’s mouth, then averts his face. “Come on, babe, don’t make this kind of asshole out of me.”</p>
<p>“You already are this kind of asshole. The only difference is that here there’s a risk of somebody calling you out on it.”</p>
<p>Dean’s chest starts heaving and he makes a frustrated grimace looking at the corner of the house.</p>
<p>Nick removes one arm, giving Dean the opportunity to escape. “Next time, come home to where you belong, Dean. Here. With me.”</p>
<p>Dean looks back at him, eyes wide, uncertain and calculating.</p>
<p>Nick drops his other arm too, about to step away. He doesn’t get the chance. Dean hooks his hand around Nick’s neck and pulls him in, greedy mouth suddenly on Nick’s. Dean kisses with a desperation Nick doesn’t understand but reciprocates.</p>
<p>Dean pulls away with a hiss. “Someone could come.”</p>
<p>“You better be fast then, darlin’,” Nick drawls, heart hammering in triumph. In a few weeks Mike will stomp in and blow Nick out of the competition. He’ll be alone alone alone. But until then? Fuck them all.</p>
<p>A few minutes later Nick adjusts himself in his pants and Dean dries his mouth with the back of his hand, going back inside.</p><hr/>
<p>The emotional shitstorm brewing inside of Nick since yesterday continues. He does his best to hide how he goes from rage to guilt to desperation and back. Gabe notices it of course. Gabe can sense his black moods from a mile away just like Dean. Steve notices too. They all have a certain kind of feelers, subconsciously looking for tells of someone spiralling into the dark. Dean goes to work and the home is invaded with young people, amongst them Sam.</p>
<p>With no Claire by his side, Sam lets Nick stick to him like a bandaid.</p>
<p>Andy walks around with a camera, filming a little bit of everything on Dean’s request, and Mike draws courage to direct himself towards and ‘flirt’ with the camera anytime it’s near. When Nick remarks on it, Mike responds that he’s trying to get used to it since Dean’s broadcasting such a large part of his life and Mike wants to be part of said life.</p>
<p>Nick resents him.</p>
<p>Then he resents himself for feeling that way.</p>
<p>He’s struggling with a sense of being in a bubble. He’s there, making jokes, Sam by his side, people around him, yet it’s like he can’t connect. It’s nothing new. He’s had flares like this for as long as he can remember - a sense of feeling too much and not at all at the same time. He wishes someone will break the no-drug rule so he can confiscate the drugs and get high, grounding him in either reality or unreality. Either is good. But Steve and Sam’s goody two-shoes friends are far too respectful to break that rule.</p>
<p>There’s a brief commotion coming from the couch where Steve’s sitting beside Annie. Nick wasn’t paying attention to them so he didn’t hear what the discussion was before Steve suddenly howls “Oooooooh!!!” looking at Annie with wide eyes and Annie throws herself at him covering his mouth. She’s quick to drag him away to the kitchen. Usually, Nick’s curious nature would be all over that but now he can’t muster the interest.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later he goes to the kitchen to get new beers for himself and Sam, and Steve and Annie are still in there. Steve’s leaned against the counter hugging Annie, having a quiet conversation.</p>
<p>“You guys want a beer?” Nick asks as he pulls two beers from the fridge, uncapping them.</p>
<p>“Yeah, thanks,” Steve says.</p>
<p>“How about you, pretty lady?” Nick asks Annie.</p>
<p>“No thanks. I’m the designated driver,” she says with a small smile.</p>
<p>“I thought you and Gabe were staying over?” Nick asks, surprised.</p>
<p>“Yes, but mom wasn’t feeling too well so I’m on call in case she needs to go to the hospital,” Annie answers.</p>
<p>Nick hums and hands Steve a beer, then grabs another one from the fridge, uncaps it, and brings the two beers with him out of the kitchen. He thought Annie had a pretty big family that all live in the city. They must all be jerks if she’s the only one willing to remain sober a Saturday night in the possibility of needing to drive to the hospital, he reflects and thinks no more about it. He stops beside Gabe to tease him about the gay guy making a move on his girlfriend in the kitchen then continues to Sam’s side.</p>
<p>When it’s starting to get late someone suggests barbecue and they pile outdoors in the cold, huddling under blankets or in their jackets as hot dogs and burgers magically appear despite Dean not being present to man the grill. (Steve’s adept at it too, as it turns out.) Someone invites the neighbors who come bearing more booze. It’s nice. The walls on his glass bubble are thinning.</p>
<p>Mike fetches Dean’s guitar and Gabe hands Nick one too.</p>
<p>Mike starts playing, Nick strumming along without much thought, more focused on listening to Mike singing. Mike sings ‘Through the Barricades’ by Spandau Ballet. It might be just his mood but he thinks it might be one of the most beautiful songs in history and Mike, comfortable with his audience, performs it at his best.</p>
<p>“<em>We made our love on wasteland<br/>
And through the barricades<br/>
Oh, turn around and I'll be there<br/>
Oh, there's a scar through my heart but I'll bare it again…</em>”</p>
<p>Nick’s hit so hard by how much he loves Mike that it feels like his chest is caving in.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes and sways with the music as he plays backup for Mike, all to hide how close he is to crying.</p>
<p>There might never be anyone in his life he loves more fiercely than Mike, and still, he’ll go behind Mike’s back consciously choose to do something that would hurt Mike something fierce.</p>
<p>He’s a bad seed, destined to corrupt everything beautiful he touches.</p>
<p>
  <em>No. Not everything.</em>
</p>
<p>He opens his eyes to look at Sam’s smiling face. It’ll never be him and Sam he vows. That’ll be his one good deed. His one big sacrifice to make up for the big, dark ugliness that blights his soul. When he’s at the pearly gates, preparing to throw a Molotov cocktail through the bars and give God the finger before they haul him downstairs to eternal damnation, at least he can say that he didn’t ruin Sam.</p>
<p>The last tones of the song fade and the silence that follows is almost reverent in its nature until Annie speaks. “Oh my god, that was so beautiful! You’ve <em>got</em> to sing that on my wedding,” she enthuses and dabs her eyes with a napkin.</p>
<p>“Mine too!” Gabe jokes, making everyone laugh. He and Annie look so stupidly in love, wrapping Nick in a strangling coil of envy.</p>
<p>“I know what song needs to be played on my wedding,” Nick jokes and launches into a Morrissey song he fell in love with and identifies with due to the line ‘I’ve made up your mind’. “<em>The more you ignore me, The closer I get, You're wasting your time…</em>”</p>
<p>Mike and Gabe find it hilarious and their laughter is contagious.</p>
<p>For some reason it evolves to Mike and Nick singing lovesongs, trading off or singing backup for each other. Nick smiles and jokes and is having a fairly good time but he can’t quite break through his glass case. He’s so removed that when he manages to nail a song―’Better Man’ by Robbie Williams―bringing tears to the eyes of several people and Mike declaring it’s going on their set, Nick doesn’t get why everyone’s so moved.</p>
<p>The cold eventually drives people inside and the guitars are put away. Nick’s getting pretty drunk and vows made fade into forgetfulness. That’s why he falls into bed with Sam, kissing, pulling Sam’s sweater over Sam’s head and whining when it means breaking the kiss.</p>
<p>Sam giggles. “In therapy, it’s so clear why you don’t want us to do this, but right now I can’t come up with any good reason to abstain.”</p>
<p>Nick pushes himself up to sit between Sam’s legs with a discontent grimace. “Now why did you have to go saying that? I was about to get laid,” he complains.</p>
<p>“You can still get laid,” Sam grins.</p>
<p>Nick shakes his head and strokes Sam’s thighs. “No, dearheart, I can’t.”</p>
<p>Sam smiles at him. “Okay, but could you, like, explain to me why not again? Because we love each other, and, and, I want you, and I’m drunk, so I’ve got trouble seeing why we shouldn’t, right? I mean, you want to, right? But I’m not gonna make the same mistake as before and push. I’d just like it to make sense.”</p>
<p>Nick turns his head and looks at his steadily growing collection of psychology books in his bookcase. Sam doesn’t know it, but asking him to say out loud why, is a great deterrent. “That’s a problem, isn’t it? Knowing and <em>feeling</em> don’t go hand in hand,” he muses. “What kind of therapist are you seeing?”</p>
<p>“I dunno? One that you talk to?”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers and looks back at Sam. He hooks his hands under Sam’s knees and pulls, hooking Sam’s thighs over his own, delighting in Sam’s giggles. “Psychology is a young science, Sam. Sure, we can date it back to Hippocrates, a Greek physician who lived approximately 400 years before Christ. He said that when the four bodily fluids blood, phlegm, yellow- and black bile were unbalanced, a person became sick, and mental illness was a symptom of that. Hence, mental illness <em>was</em> an illness. Then the Romans were conquered and the church took power. They said mental illness was a punishment from God or that it was demon possession. Therefore anyone experiencing bad mental health should be punished.”</p>
<p>“If God’s already punishing them, why should the church do it too?” Sam asks, amused.</p>
<p>Nick snaps his fingers and points at him. “Exactly! Which is my main beef with religious people. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make.”</p>
<p>“You don’t believe in God?” Sam asks, content to let Nick drunkenly ramble a condensed version of the history of psychology.</p>
<p>“Sure, I do. But you won’t catch me in a church unless there’s a wedding or a funeral. That’s a discussion for another day. So then the 1800th century rolls around and the industrial revolution starts,” Nick goes on, set on getting his thoughts out. Sam didn’t ask for a lecture but Nick’s been reading too much about this bullcrap lately and needs to get it out of his system. If Dean can have Mike indulge his interests then Nick can damn well have Sam do it too. “Natural science becomes popularized amongst the wealthy and people start questioning the religious explanations for mental illness. This French guy, Phillippe Pinel, claims that bad mental health comes from an unbalanced emotional life, a bad upbringing, and bad ways of life. That doesn’t sound revolutionary but it meant that someone with mental illness could be cured and shouldn’t be punished. Are you with me?”</p>
<p>Sam sniggers. “I guess?”</p>
<p>“Good. Along comes Freud, and he says bad mental health comes from repressed childhood trauma, at the same time as this other guy Watson says bad mental health is learned. They gave birth to two different perspectives on mental health. So, what I should’ve said earlier was that there are all these different perspectives to look at psychology. Back in Freud’s days they tried to find the one, true way. Today we acknowledge that there are several angles to look at it, that all hold truths. Kind of like a house with many doors. Or like taking a picture from different angles will give you different views of the same thing. Are you listening?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” Sam answers, smiling lips compressed as if he’s trying not to laugh.</p>
<p>“Good. Because I asked you a question and you couldn’t answer so I’m supplying you with additional information so you can figure out the answer for me. So. <em>Pay</em>, attention.”</p>
<p>“What question did you ask?”</p>
<p>Nick rolls his eyes, his whole body swaying with the motion. He fights the urge to slap Sam. But then Sam laughs at him and instead a burst of warmth blossoms in his chest. “I asked what kind of therapist you’re seeing. There are different schools of thought. We’ve got the biological perspective that looks at the brain and nervous system. There’s where you got your neuroscientists and psychiatrists. You can get therapy from a psychiatrist. They’ll prescribe you medicine and shit like that. A regular doctor will do that too, but most likely refer you to therapy while they’re at it.”</p>
<p>“Mrs. Rourke has mentioned antidepressants in passing, but she can’t prescribe them and doesn’t push for me to get any.”</p>
<p>“See? We’re getting somewhere. We can rule out psychiatrist. Does she make you lay on a couch, analyze your dreams, use hypnosis, and try to make you remember repressed childhood memories?”</p>
<p>“No,” Sam chuckles.</p>
<p>“Then she’s not a Freud-stan and we can rule out the psychoanalytic perspective,” Nick says, nodding sagely.</p>
<p>Sam laughs and sits up. He wraps his arms around Nick’s midriff and interlaces his fingers behind Nick’s back to stop himself from falling back. “This is fun. Another one,” he says with that gorgeous, life-ruining, dimpled smile of his.</p>
<p>It’s on the tip of Nick’s tongue to ask him to move in right then and there, then make love to Sam, claiming him like a prize.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sam’s dad got to keep him as a personal pleasure slave for more than a decade, so why shouldn’t I?</em>
</p>
<p>Nick doesn’t need the Mikey-voice to tell him why. All he needs is the memory of his mother sternly shoving him towards uncle Nicolai, ordering him to apologize to his uncle for telling those awful lies about him. When Nick got back to his family from his first stint in foster care they’d been angry at him. Angry for revealing his parents’ alcohol abuse, angry for splitting up the family, angry for saying Nicolai―the most respectable and well-adjusted person in the family―had molested him. If his parents had managed to keep sober instead of falling back into their addiction as soon as the CPS turned their back, Nick would’ve remained in their care.</p>
<p>At 7 years of age, he was broken. The burden of guilt to have ruined everything for his family, the humiliation of having to apologize to his abuser, and, ultimately, that his abuser was the most caring of the adults around him - it had shattered him. For a few months, he was on his best behavior, surrounded by a cocoon of glass that sealed in his emotions and prevented others’ from reaching him mentally. Anxiety was constant, he had trouble sleeping, nightmares, couldn’t concentrate in school, disinterest in friends, headaches, stomach aches, a fear of being alone. The adults around him explained it away by saying it was the year in foster care that caused it. It couldn’t possibly be because his abuser now was one of his primary caregivers again, and he saw no way of escaping it.</p>
<p>The worst part was the conflicting feelings inside. The fear of being alone with Nicolai warring with the gratification that came with that alone-time. The shame of feeling gratification at all. Learning how to partition his mind to enjoy physical sensation while at the same time feeling violated. His uncle didn’t get his virginity in the manner of him never inserting his penis in Nick’s anus, but he stole everything else, urging on Nick’s own alcohol abuse since it made Nick willing.</p>
<p>The glass case started shattering, leading to violent fits of rage that had even his mother fearing him. <em>That</em> was a heady power trip. His father left the realm of ‘discipline’ for violent abuse. How else could he be controlled? Funny thing is, his uncle had nothing to do with Nick ending up in foster care again. Uncle Nicolai was out of town when it happened. Nick’s parents had one of their daily parties, Nick stole a bottle of Jack and left home in the middle of the night, and a random driver had found him passed out from alcohol poisoning by the roadside several miles away.</p>
<p>“Nick. Where did you go?” Sam chuckles and jostles him. “I said, another one.”</p>
<p>“Ah, yes. Then we got the behavioral psychologists, may they burn in hell, who believe babies come out of the womb as blank slates and our personalities are learned, thereby proving they’ve never interacted with actual babies for more than a few minutes tops.”</p>
<p>Sam laughs, throwing his head back in a carefree joy that spears Nick’s heart and makes him grin.</p>
<p>“What? Those fuckers explain depression as learned helplessness. Fuck them. My beef with John Watson and his experiments on an actual child aside, behaviorists are all about learning and have great success treating phobias and compulsive disorders. It’s about rewarding the right behaviors and ignoring or punishing the wrong ones. Although, it’s been proven that punishment isn’t a great deterrent, instead it often teaches the individual to <em>hide</em> the unwanted behavior to avoid consequences. Just look at your brother who’s a masterclass liar, or Steve, who keeps secrets like no one else.”</p>
<p>“This is actually really interesting,” Sam says. “But I don’t think Mrs. Rourke is a behaviorist.”</p>
<p>“No? I didn’t think so either. Then we have social psychology, which is my favorite. It’s about how other people, societal norms, and shit like that influence how we think, feel, and behave. Have you heard about the Stanford Prison Experiment? Where they took a bunch of college students, had them pretend to be guards and prisoners and the whole thing evolved into a reenactment of Lord of the Flies within days?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Well you can forget all about its conclusions because it’s been debunked,” Nick says snippily.</p>
<p>Sam laughs again and leans closer to squeeze Nick as if Nick being salty about faulty science being held up as a standard for the masses is somehow something to be happy about.</p>
<p>“It’s not funny, Sam. First of all, the guy who conducted the experiment instructed the guys pretending to be guards. They knew what results he wanted and acted accordingly. <em>That’s not science</em>. Secondly, when he put in an ad seeking participants he mentioned it was a prison experiment. Other people tried putting in ads both for a prison experiment and for just an undisclosed science experiment then interviewed and evaluated the respondents, and, guess what? A large portion of the people responding to the prison-ad had less empathy as well as psychotic tendencies. Nobody’s ever been able to reproduce the results of the experiment yet it’s being hailed as the ultimate truth about human nature. I find it very upsetting.”</p>
<p>“I can tell,” Sam sniggers and places a kiss on Nick’s lips, jolting him out of the anger he feels about people like Michael being compared to people like him because of a botched experiment. “Is that why it’s your favorite? Because it upsets you?”</p>
<p>“What?” Nick huffs. “No. It’s my favorite perspective because I most easily see how I and others fit through this perspective. They talk about roles we have as if we were actors on a stage, and we have different roles that we take on or are assigned, then consciously or subconsciously perform. Like how I was assigned the role as a ‘problem child’ then proceeded to give an Oscar worthy performance of that role still to this day,” he says and strokes a lock of hair behind Sam’s ear.</p>
<p>“Likening child abuse to assigning a role sounds wrong,” Sam states.</p>
<p>“No, you misunderstand. It’s not what happened to me that was the role assignment, but how people treated me and what they expected of me. Remember the family I told you about? My second placement where my foster dad raped the girl I was rooming with?” Nick says and waits for Sam’s nod before he continues, “They didn’t assign that role to me. They saw me as a scared, inquisitive, intelligent and talented boy who had been hurt and needed help to reach his potential, and they acted accordingly. I was well on my way to readjust to my new role and if I hadn’t had to witness my foster dad rape that girl on a regular basis, who knows who I could’ve been? That’s not important. I’m ruling out your therapist as a social psychologist since they mostly deal with family therapy and shit like that.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but what more is there?”</p>
<p>Sam’s looking at him in a way Nick doesn’t get looked at very often unless he’s on stage - with admiration, as if he’s full of knowledge and his words are important. Yet all he’s doing is reiterating the most basic psychology course, dumbed down. It’s not earned, but he likes it. “The cognitive perspective. They take into account both how the brain and your individual senses work, your personal experiences and memories - your perception, and then they try to identify negative thought patterns in the here and now, and help you change them.”</p>
<p>“Like, they don’t focus on the past?” Sam asks.</p>
<p>“No. Not first and foremost. But of course they’ll help you work through past trauma as well.”</p>
<p>“Then that’s what Mrs. Rourke is, I think,” Sam says thoughtfully. “Like, she asked me what I wanted to achieve by going to therapy and we work from there.”</p>
<p>Nick twists around and points at his bookcase. “See all those books? Some are from my psychology classes in college, the rest are new. I bought them to better be able to help you, Dean, and Steve. They’re fucking worthless. I can give you a fifty page analysis of why I am like I am but it doesn’t make a lick of difference because at the end of the day I’m still me. That’s why we shouldn’t have sex.”</p>
<p>Sam grins and shakes his head. “If you think that made sense you’re really drunk. It’s okay. You don’t want to.” He falls back down on the mattress again, still with his hips halfway up Nick’s legs. His grin remains firmly in place.</p>
<p>Nick hums and tilts his head. He pulls his lip thoughtfully. “Have you told your therapist your dad raped you?”</p>
<p>Sam’s smile wavers. “Uh. No. I, I’ve tried. But anytime I try to put words on it I chicken out. Look, I’m going to, alright? It’s just so ingrained in me that I can’t tell anyone or bad things will happen. Like, part of me is still afraid the CPS will take Dean from me if I tell anyone.”</p>
<p>It’s Nick’s turn to laugh. “That’s hilarious, darling.”</p>
<p>“Look, I know it’s irrational―”</p>
<p>“It is, but feelings are anything but rational. It’s not important. You know, some of the things my uncle did to me, no matter how awful they were back then, today they’re way up there on my list of kinks. And I like to be in control. See, that’s a problem. Because last time we almost had sex, you triggered.”</p>
<p>Sam makes a frustrated face. “Yeah, but it was dark in the room and I wasn’t in a good headspace.”</p>
<p>“Mmmhm,” NIck purrs. “Doesn’t matter.” He lies down on top of Sam, grabs Sam’s wrists and pins his hands on either side of Sam's head and kisses him filthily. He hates how Sam melts under him, how right it feels, how it makes his heart skip beats like it hasn’t done for anyone since Azazel. He pulls away and leers down at Sam. “You triggered because in the end I’m just another large, heavy, greedy man on top of you, and if you can’t see me properly I’m your dad.”</p>
<p>“That’s not―”</p>
<p>“That’s exactly what it is, Sammykin. Your dad used you over and over and over. He lied to you, manipulated you, raped you, and wore you down until you no longer could discern what’s normal.”</p>
<p>Sam looks away, lips compressing, swallowing audibly. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “That’s the point, mon cher. I love you. But I’m also a fucked up asshole. And as long as you haven’t processed the horrid betrayal of your father enough to make the distinction between him and me, we should not be having sex. I know how to play the role of the bad boy and I don’t want to do that with you. I’m so messed up that if <em>I’m</em> the one in a bad headspace,” <em>like I am right now</em>, he doesn’t add, “you might trigger and I might not stop.”</p>
<p>Sam looks back at him, jaws ticking, staying quiet.</p>
<p>Nick’s provocative demeanor shifts into softness. He smiles at Sam. “What do you say? Just kiss and cuddle? Or should I fuck you into the mattress? One option will give us instant gratification but will be detrimental to both our mental health, the other might give us blue balls but be better for us in the long run. Which one is it?”</p>
<p>Sam blinks a couple of times. His eyes are glossy. Nick went too far, heart twisting, nauseating remorse pulsating like poison in his veins. But then Sam gives him a watery smile. “Cuddle?”</p>
<p>“Atta boy,” Nick praises and slides to the side of Sam, putting an arm around him and entangling their legs.</p>
<p>Sam tucks his head under Nick’s chin and cuddles as close as he can get. It’s nice. Of course, Nick’s steered the conversation into uncomfortable and Sam decides to keep them there. After a brief moment of silence, he quietly says, “Dad raped me.”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>Sam swallows, sound sticky. “He used me over and over and over until I no longer could discern what’s normal,” he repeats Nick’s words.</p>
<p>“That’s right,” Nick agrees.</p>
<p>“He lied to me. He manipulated me,” Sam says, a bit louder this time, determined.</p>
<p>It dawns on Nick that Sam’s granting him the wish to be the good guy for a change. He’s actually helping Sam. Saying it out loud, voicing a new thought-pattern, taking the first steps to making it real. “He did.”</p>
<p>“He raped me. It was still rape even though I didn’t say no,” Sam states with a hint of anger this time.</p>
<p>“That’s right, darling. A child can’t consent even if they say yes because of the power imbalance and the dependence.”</p>
<p>Sam’s quiet for a bit, chest heaving. When he calms down he says, “But he loved me?” It’s stated as a question.</p>
<p>“Perhaps. Who knows how monsters experience love? But no matter what he feels for you his actions weren’t loving and the abuse and manipulation was too thought-through to say he didn’t know he was using you or doing wrong,” Nick says and caresses Sam over the back.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Sam says after another pause. “Oh, is it true you forced Dean and Steve to put a name on their anxieties?” he adds, changing the volatile subject.</p>
<p>“Steve told you that?”</p>
<p>“No. Dean did. I heard him say ‘Yes, ma’am,’ when there was no one else in the room.”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “The fucking idiot. If he’s yes-ma’aming it, it’s not having the right effect on him.”</p>
<p>“What’s that about anyway?”</p>
<p>Their conversation soon turns pleasant again, but Nick’s humbled. It’s big. Hearing Sam voice the truth of his upbringing even though he was just repeating Nick’s words back to him. It’s a small consolation for the sacrifice Nick’s making by standing by his no.</p><hr/>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. The day before Thanksgiving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean and Steve are jittery about something they've made. Sam's gathering courage to make a big confession in therapy. Nick's feeling down because everyone's forgotten his birthday. It's not like he cares. He doesn't like when people make a big fuss about him anyway.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, wow. I was fretting because I thought I hadn't managed to capture Nick's state of mind in a believable way. Writing feelings and irrational thoughts is sometimes hard, right? But, man, thank you! I was not prepared for the response I got on the last chapter. &lt;3</p>
<p>Okay. It's finally happened. I had a vain hope this day wouldn't come, but I could no longer avoid it. Funnily, I thought Mike would be the one to force me to do this, but no, it was Dean. What am I talking about? Writing song lyrics, of course! Writing song lyrics is basically poetry and I <i>loathe</i> poetry, so, you know, enjoy. ;D (I actually sang the lines to make sure the verses could be fit to the same melody and rhythm. :P)</p>
<p><b>CHAPTER WARNINGS:</b><br/>-Awful poetry that masquerades as original song lyrics<br/>-Discussions of past sexual child abuse<br/>-Discussion of abuse</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>Dean stands by the side of the road and grins so hard it feels his face will split as the big van parks in front of him and Bobby jumps out of the driver’s seat. “Did you bring her?”</p>
<p>“Don’t ask stupid questions, son, and git yer ass over here and give me a hug,” Bobby grumps, followed by a smile belying the grumpiness.</p>
<p>Dean strides up to Bobby and gives him a tight hug, Andy walking by his side, capturing it all on camera. Bobby ignores it. He’d been asked beforehand so he knew Andy would be filming.</p>
<p>“‘S good to see ya,” Dean says, gives Bobby’s back a couple of slaps and steps back, turning to the camera. “Alright, folks. This is my uncle, Bobby Singer. He owns Singer’s Auto in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He taught me everything I know about restoring cars.” Bobby gives the camera a little wave. “He may look like the before-picture of the cars he restores, but don’t let that fool ya, he’s a genius,” Dean jokes.</p>
<p>“Har har,” Bobby says grumpily, making Dean snigger.</p>
<p>“We’ll be working on her in the barn up ahead, so if you’ll follow me…”</p>
<p>They shoot the rest of the segment. The cars driving to the barn, unloading the old, rusted Harley Davidson, Dean cooing over it, explaining to the audience what he’s planning, reshooting a few clips from other angles. Once that’s done Dean introduces Bobby to Andy properly and gets to talking about stuff he doesn’t necessarily want on camera.</p>
<p>“Steve will pick Sam up after therapy. Nick and his siblings are at their dad’s house for an early Thanksgiving dinner but they’ll get home later. Speaking of, have you heard from dad?”</p>
<p>Bobby shakes his head. “No. Last time I spoke to him he just wanted to know if I’d heard from ya.”</p>
<p>“Bet he was pissed,” Dean says with a grimace.</p>
<p>“Mmmhm. You can say that again,” Bobby answers and gives Dean a pointed look. “Didn’t even say goodbye before hanging up.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I think he’s figured out I’m Iying to him. He accused me of no longer looking for Sam. He said I’d probably found a girl to shack up with. He didn’t use those words, but, you know…” Dean shrugs. “About a week ago he demanded I come home for Thanksgiving. I’ve been ghosting him since then.”</p>
<p>“Yer doin’ right by avoiding him. He ain’t all there anymore,” Bobby says with a concerned twist to his lips.</p>
<p>“Nah. He’s like he’s always been. Now come on. Get in the van. I’m taking you home.”</p>
<p>Dean feels infinitely proud showing Bobby his new home, introducing Steve, showing his computer setup, and assigning him a guest room.</p>
<p>“So Nick, the dumb fuck, decided to go have his birthday on a day where we can’t throw him a party,” Dean explains and opens a video to show Bobby who’s sitting on a chair beside him. Steve’s leaned against the doorpost, having trailed after the two of them since Bobby was introduced. “Which sucks because he’s insanely hard to come up with gifts for. So I wrote him a song and me and the guys made a video for it. Tell me what you think? We recorded the sound in a studio―”</p>
<p>“It was fucking expensive,” Steve chips in.</p>
<p>“Hey we coulda gone with the cheaper studio,” Dean points out.</p>
<p>“No, we fucking couldn’t, you cheapskate hillbilly,” Steve snarks. “That shit’s going on Spotify and you get what you pay for. You can go ahead and call me an over-privileged douchy snob all you want to, but I’m not putting my name on low-grade quality crap.”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers at him. “Yeah Yeah. You were right, and I should say it.” He looks at Bobby. “I dunno if Nick will like it, but it was the only thing I could think of to give. I was up all night editing the video but I couldn’t get some things to sync. That asshole over there decided to get creative on the drums in the studio, and there was no time to reshoot the footage of him drumming.” He holds up his hand in a stop-gesture towards Steve, “You were awesome, don’t get me wrong,” he apologizes. “But I couldn’t get it to match, that’s all. So it’s gonna be obvious it’s a studio recording.” Then back to Bobby he says, “It’s called Light of Lucifer. It’s his stage name, right?”</p>
<p>“I saw the videos, son. I know.”</p>
<p>“Right. Right. I called him that before I knew if he was fine having his identity revealed. Okay, okay, so, I tried to make something he’d like, a bit inspired by Pink Floyd and Bon Jovi. It ain’t got the quick hook it needs to get popular today, but―”</p>
<p>“Will you stop fretting and show him the damn video,” Steve says with an annoyed frown.</p>
<p>Dean hiccups a giggle. “Right, right.” He’s fucking nervous, is what he is. It’s nerve-wracking to put out original music for everyone to see. He thinks Steve might be a bit nervous too. Dean wrote the song, tweaked the lyrics a bit to suit them both. Steve’s both playing drums and singing some backup vocals. The second verse, in particular, had been modified to fit Steve’s point of view into the narrative. To avoid confusion, they’d used female pronouns in one part of the song. It’s funny how well that played into Nick’s order to name their anxieties a few weeks later.</p>
<p>Dean reaches out and hits play. Steve comes to stand behind them as the video starts. It starts with drone footage of a road and Dean’s car speeding, the drone diving and flying just above the road to give a sense of speeding along.</p>
<p>A jumpcut of Dean backing out of a house, smiling, saying, ‘Just gonna nip down to the store. I’ll be back in five.’ He turns around and walks to his car. Just before he gets into the driver’s seat he stops to look back at the house, there’s a close-up of his face as he lets the smile drop and his eyes go regretful.</p>
<p>He gets in and drives away and then it cuts to him in the car. One sees him look at something he drives past, a cut to the car passing the store from the outside, and then drone footage of the car speeding down an empty road again with the text ‘Light of Lucifer’ over it. It fades out and there’s a shot of a tumbleweed blowing over a road, transitioning to a low shot from a roadside, depicting a ‘State Border’ sign.</p>
<p>“That’s cool, bro. When did you shoot that?” Steve asks.</p>
<p>“I didn’t. Splurged on a video stock site membership.”</p>
<p>On the screen, Dean’s inside the car again, reaching out to turn the radio on and the music finally starts, Steve leading with drums, then Dean comes in with electric guitar and bass. Dean thinks it’s awesome that one person can play several instruments on the same track.</p>
<p>On the screen Dean’s standing in front of a sheet hung over a clothesline inside the dilapidated house Dean had raided for bricks to make the barbecue. He’s playing the guitar. Steve’s beside him, playing drums. On the sheet behind them, low-res black and white footage of Dean laughing and talking with different people in different settings play silently as Dean begins to sing.</p>
<p>“<em>Lost and cocky, I know the road, I know the drill, I know the code<br/>But I never knew home, Oh, I never knew home before<br/>Drifting close but never there, always chained to my ball of despair<br/>A ghost caught in the background, of faded photographs<br/>tomorrow, my name will be your jaded memory</em>”</p>
<p>Cut to Dean sleeping in the back of a car, waking up with a jerk, another cut filmed from Dean’s point of view of Nick leaning down to talk to him, holding the car door open. That had been hell to try film without actually asking Nick to act. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he knew about it beforehand, after all.</p>
<p>
  <em>But there he was<br/>(There he was)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Oooh, yeah, there he was</em>
</p>
<p>Andy had managed to get a few fucking awesome shots of Nick standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost, smirking, watching Sam and Ennis arrive. When Andy went in for a closeup Nick had waved him away, annoyedly sniped at him to get the camera out of his face. But Dean had slowed down the few seconds of good footage and used it interspersed with clips of Nick and Dean hanging out, doing domestic stuff, and Dean and Steve in the dilapidated house for the chorus.</p>
<p>
  <em>Bloody knuckles, bloody nose<br/>He’s standing in the doorway<br/>The light that guides me home</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Busted broken he will win<br/>Brilliant star that lives within<br/>The light that guides me home<br/>(the light that guides me home)</em>
</p>
<p>In the break between the chorus and the second verse, Steve sits on the sidewalk outside a house looking heartbroken. He’s got a fake black eye, and there are short clips of an argument between Steve and an older man indoors, then Steve getting thrown out. You never really see the face of the older man but it’s Andy’s dad who agreed to play the part and Steve’s sitting outside of Andy’s house. Dean hadn’t been there during the shooting of this scene but he’d explained what he wanted, all because he had footage of Nick helping Steve up from the sidewalk already. You can see it’s not the same sidewalk, but, again, it’s not a surprise if Nick’s in on it so it’ll have to do.</p>
<p>
  <em>She walks beside me, whispers sighs, cutting words, and poison lies<br/>She sliced me open, Oh, bleeding my dreams to the floor<br/>She tells me that’s all I am, Thalia hiding Melpomene underneath<br/>His severed wings won’t let him fly, they use his name in vain<br/>He takes my villain’s script, and tells me it’s his role to play</em>
</p>
<p>Dean wonders if Nick could even imagine that the shot of the smiling theater mask, Thalia, hiding the frowning one, Melpomene, underneath, was shot <em>before</em> Nick pulled his ‘mask off’ stunt in the kitchen. Unless Gabe told him, there’s no way he could’ve known and it’s fucking beautiful, is what it is.</p>
<p>The rest of the video is shots of Dean and Steve in the old house, Nick interacting with them at home, partying with their friends and them, a shot of Dean’s car parked, covered by dust, a few shots of Nick brooding with a faraway look that Andy took while Dean was at work. There are some lighting discrepancies between some shots that are edited to look like they belong together</p>
<p>“<em>So I can finally stay<br/>(I can finally stay)</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Oooh, yeah, I can finally stay</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Bloody knuckles, bloody nose<br/>He’s standing in the doorway<br/>The light that guides me home</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Busted broken he will win<br/>Brilliant star that lives within<br/>The light that guides me home<br/>(the light that guides me home)</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A drifting soul fated to forever be lost<br/>He found me and he took me in disregarding the cost</em>
</p>
<p><em>The light that guides me home<br/>He’s the light that showed me home<br/>The light that guides me home…</em>”</p>
<p>The video ends with Nick sitting on the porch, filmed from the back, and Dean and Steve coming to join him, looking at the sunset. Dean had rigged his camera to take that shot. Then, fade to black, and the text, ‘Happy Birthday, Luci. And thank you.’</p>
<p>Steve and Dean hold their breath, looking at Bobby. “What do you think?” Dean asks nervously when Bobby doesn’t immediately speak.</p>
<p>“That’s some fine storytelling y’all did there. I’m proud you, son,” Bobby says, then turns to Steve and says, “You too. Y’all outdid yourself with this one.”</p>
<p>Steve grins. “Thank you, Sir. I ain’t the best singer but the technician put some autotune on me and suddenly I sound fucking great.”</p>
<p>“You think he’ll be happy with the gift?” Dean asks. “I’ve arranged to put it on Spotify, and officially registered the copyright. You don’t have to do that to <em>have</em> copyright, but I’ve heard horror stories about false copyright claims. Anyway, I just don’t know if he’ll like it since it’s not something you can hold, you know? I dunno.” He drags both hands through his hair then leaves one hand up, petting himself soothingly over the head.</p>
<p>“Son, I don’t know him, so I can’t speak for him, but I’m positive he’ll like it. This is leagues better than all yer other stuff.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Dean perks up. “I’ve gotten way better at the whole planning and editing crap, but we’re withholding videos until I’ve finished one video in particular.”</p>
<p>“I think we should have a release party for the thirst trap,” Steve remarks. “That’d be lit. It’s basically a promo for upcoming vids anyway.”</p>
<p>“That’d be awesome! Oh, you saw the shot of…” Dean goes on to prattle on about the music video, Steve chipping in about his parts in the making, both so excited Bobby barely gets a word in edgewise.</p>
<p>When 3 PM rolls around Dean hits upload, so nervous he wants to throw up. Tomorrow he’ll upload another video on Mike’s behalf. He’s nervous about that one too, but for another reason.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sam sits on the loveseat and rubs his hands together between his knees.</p>
<p>“Have you got anything particular you want to talk about today?” Mrs. Rourke asks.</p>
<p>“Yes. No. Um, I don’t know?” Sam looks up to peer at Mrs. Rourke from under his bangs. “I, I, look. So get this. Nick asked me what kind of therapist you are and when I couldn’t answer he gave me a brief explanation of the different psychology perspectives, right? And he said psychoanalysts dealt with repressed childhood memories and childhood trauma, and it sounded like you belong in the cognitive perspective, so I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk about it with you?”</p>
<p>“We work from your experiences since it influences how you perceive things and how you think. If you want to talk about your childhood, we can definitely talk about your childhood. But if you’d rather see a psychoanalyst I can refer you to―”</p>
<p>“No!” Sam holds up his hands in a stop-gesture. “Please, no. I, I, I trust you, right? I feel really relaxed, talking about sensitive stuff with you.” He huffs an awkward chuckle and strokes his hair behind his ears. “Saying I’m relaxed is a bit of a hyperbole, but, like, you know…”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke smiles widely at him and tilts her head, looking at him with her warm, compassionate eyes. “Thank you, Sam. It means a lot to me to hear that.”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke has toys in her office. Small things; one of those slimy animals you can stretch, different balls like stress balls and tennis balls, fidget spinners, even a small box of Lego. There’s also a super soft teddy bear that always used to sit on the loveseat but Sam had lifted it off to make more room for himself so Mrs. Rourke had started to put it on the floor before Sam’s appointments. Sam never touches any of the toys even though he knows it’s allowed, but now he picks up the teddy and hugs it to his chest, looking down at it. “There’s something I want to talk about. It’s been pressing the back of my teeth for weeks now, but, it’s, it’s hard, you know? I was told that if I told anyone I was a traitor and nobody can love a traitor. And, and, if I told, the CPS would come and take Dean away from me. I’m, I’m still afraid the CPS will take Dean away and he’s an adult now. I know it’s irrational, but the fear is still there, you know?” He looks up at Mrs. Rourke with raised eyebrows.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke nods. “Take your time.”</p>
<p>“I don’t really know where to begin.” Sam takes a deep breath and pets the teddy soothingly over its head. It’s so soft, and the fur warms up and retains heat when Sam pets it. He looks at the walls. Mrs. Rourke has a lot of small paintings and prints with encouraging and thought-worthy messages. Sometimes when Sam doesn’t know what to talk about he’ll discuss those. Like there’s one with three elongated rhombus-shaped diamonds, one red, one yellow, and one green. It’s been hand-painted and Mrs. Rourke told him they’re called plumbobs and are used in a computer game to indicate the character’s mood. Another patient had painted it for her. They made Sam think of the BDSM traffic light system Uriel told him about.</p>
<p>Another picture, a postcard with the text ‘Be kind to yourself’ against a blue sky background with grass at the bottom and a clown handing a little girl a balloon in the corner. Sam gets stuck on it now. “I’m afraid of clowns,” he says. “It’s another irrational fear. I know that. But…” he closes his eyes and pets the teddy continuously. “We lived in a house when I was little. I don’t know how old I was. We rented it as-is, like all places we’ve lived. In the master bedroom, there was a big painting of a clown on the wall. Dad told me he loved me the most. I remember crying, looking at the painting. And the nights that followed I had nightmares of the clown loving me the most.”</p>
<p>Sam has to pause to take a few deep breaths. He’s tip-toeing around the matter. He should say it clearly, not beat around the bush. Mrs. Rourke remains silent, patient. She’s good at sensing when he needs time and when he needs encouragement.</p>
<p>“I don’t remember when I lost my virginity. Dad took it in the house with the clown painting,” Sam says, heart rate speeding up, hands feeling cold all of a sudden. “He used me over and over and over until I no longer could discern what’s normal. He raped me.” Nick had handed him a script to express this. Sam’s grateful for it now. “I never said no, but it was still rape. He didn’t have the right to do that even though he’s my dad.” He opens his eyes and looks accusingly at Mrs. Rourke. “That’s what you said, right? That it was rape, even if I never said no? He had no right?!” He’s got no idea why he’s suddenly so upset. It’s not Mrs. Rourke’s fault.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke shakes her head slowly with sad eyes. “No, Sam, he didn’t have the right.”</p>
<p>“Nick said that a child can never consent even if they say yes because of their dependence,” Sam states then raises his eyebrows for confirmation.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke nods again. “A child is completely dependent on the adults around them so there’s always an unspoken threat to the child’s well-being if they say no.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Dunno why it’s so hard to wrap my head around,” Sam says and hugs the teddy bear closer, rocking it and himself, looking down at nothing. “I, I, um. Look, these aren’t suppressed memories coming back, right? I don’t remember every time Dad used me. But I don’t remember every time I ate, slept, or went to the bathroom either, right? This was a normal thing. Just a normal thing. I think I remember some things more clearly because they were new. Like the bedroom with the clown. Dad had saved chocolate for me. I wasn’t allowed to tell Dean because he’d get jealous and I was Dad’s special little boy. I was a good boy and that’s all I ever aspired to be. I remember crying and panicking because my jaw hurt and Dad was so big I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid of Dad for a while afterward, and I felt bad because Dad didn’t like it when I cried and I didn’t want to disappoint him. He told me sex was the highest form of love, and I came to believe him, right? That I didn’t want it meant there was something wrong with me, right?”</p>
<p>“There wasn’t anything wrong with you.”</p>
<p>“No, I know. But, like, I thought it was. I kinda still do.” Sam looks at the wall, anywhere but at Mrs. Rourke. “And then I got used to it. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I couldn’t <em>feel</em> why it was the highest form of love, but I could give it, right? And, and, something happened…” He looks at the postcard with the clown on the wall. He speaks calmly, but on the inside, he’s freaking out. He can barely feel his hands and is nauseous enough that it would take very little for his stomach to turn. He’s slightly dizzy, and his skin is crawling with anxiety about doing something forbidden. He reminds himself Dad was the one that forbade it. Dad did something forbidden and didn’t want to get caught. That’s all there is to it.</p>
<p>“What happened, Sam?” Mrs. Rourke asks softly, pulling him back to the here and now.</p>
<p>“I dunno. I got slow. I dunno how to explain it. Things stopped making sense. I started school and people said things that didn’t correspond with what I knew, so I had trouble making friends. It got harder the older I got. I didn’t mind. I didn’t particularly like to be around my peers anyway. But other people’s feelings were confusing to me. Especially love and sex. Like, I’ve heard people talk about… <em>incest</em> being wrong. But, like, it didn’t make sense since the same people said love was the most important feeling, and Dad said sex was the highest form of love, right? And, and, I kinda lived in a bubble. There were so many things that didn’t make sense to me. Like the concept of someone being ‘hot’. Like, I understood it conceptually, but not...”</p>
<p>Sam pauses and leans the teddy bear away from him to study it. It’s smiling. He goes on. “It’s not until I got here pieces started falling into place. I met people I <em>wanted</em> to have sex with. I started enjoying it with some. And when I met Nick I understood ‘hot’ all the way down to my core for the first time. We almost had sex and I triggered. I know I’ve told you about that. But this weekend Nick said we can’t have sex, because I can’t separate him from Dad in the dark. I told him it’s not true, but it kinda is. I have a girlfriend, kinda. You saw her. She was waiting for me here in the waiting room last Friday. There’s been instances when we have sex when I’m uncomfortable with what she wants, right? Like, she wants me to be rough and humiliate her. And, and, and I get sick to my stomach when I oblige her. But, like, it never comes with worms crawling under my skin. I guess it’s because she’s a girl? I can’t make that make sense either, because I’ve had a woman tie me up and torture me, ignoring my safeword.”</p>
<p>Sam’s thoughts pinball around his head, flitting from one thought to another. He lets his words pour out regardless. These are hard things to talk about. He’s afraid that if he stops to think about what he says he’ll shut down and not talk about it at all, like he’s done so many times before. “But when I sleep with girls I never get that don’t-touch-me feeling. I’ll still react when they touch me if I’m already <em>in</em> that state, but, like… I dunno. And I don’t understand why when Nick touches me and memories of Dad touching me superimpose, why it’s so uncomfortable? Because, like, I didn’t mind. I didn’t like sex, but I didn’t dislike it. And I took pride in it, you know? Being a good boy. How I could get him in a good mood. I’m really good at it you know? I can deep-throat practically any size. I ride like a champ, and I can ignore the pain of going in too fast. I―” A thought hits him, making him feel guilty. He looks at Mrs. Rourke. “I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke lets out a surprised laugh and immediately covers her mouth with a hand. She removes her hand and tilts her head with that warm smile of hers that makes him feel so safe. “I apologize for laughing, but that was so unexpected. Bless your thoughtful heart. Yes. It’s making me very uncomfortable to hear what you’ve gone through. But that’s why I’m here. I believe that if everyone chooses to close themselves off to uncomfortable truths, those who live those uncomfortable truths are doomed to live that way forever. It’s perfectly fine for you to talk about it. It’s not hearing you talk about it that’s uncomfortable to me, but that it happened to you. Do you understand where I’m coming from?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Yeah. I guess, it’s like when Steve talked about his dad beating him. If we hadn’t listened to him, he might be dead today. And, and, he has conflicting feelings. He’s told me he misses his dad, and I’ve told him I miss my dad too. I <em>do</em>. Like, I’m terrified he’ll come here and take me back, but sometimes when I think of him, I think of when we built an igloo behind our house, or when he taught me how to make wild squirrels eat from my hand, or stuff like that. And when I told Steve I’m scared of ever meeting Dad again but I still miss him, he said it helped him. I don’t get why. Why is it helpful to Steve?” Sam looks at Mrs. Rourke hoping for an answer.</p>
<p>“It’s validating. I would guess your friend knows the abuse he suffered was wrong in the eyes of others, and that makes the affectionate feelings he has shameful to him. So he feels validated knowing he’s not the only one with conflicting feelings towards his abuser.”</p>
<p>Sam thinks about it for a beat. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense. Because if he doesn’t outright reject his dad, in the eyes of others, he too is guilty, kinda? Even though he isn’t. Like, like victim-blaming himself? And that’s where the shame comes from, sorta. But… like. I’m not really ashamed of what Dad did to me? I’m more like… I dunno. I’m scared people will see me as sullied. It’s, it’s. Look. It’s hard, alright? What Dad taught me to do, it became a source of pride, okay? Like, I’m good. I’m <em>really</em> good. At least with a guy, I can do and be whatever they want. And, and, at the time I was living with Dad, it wasn’t something I particularly minded? My body and feelings would, I dunno, disconnect from each other? I would―. Sorry. Give me a moment.”</p>
<p>Sam closes his eyes and burrows his nose in the teddy bear, squeezing it close. He takes a few deep breaths. “When I was older… I would seduce him unprompted,” he admits. “When he was in a bad mood. Or…” A few more deep breaths. “He brought home women sometimes. It made me mad. I didn’t understand it because there was no possible way he could love them. He’d just met them. So I was mad. I’d pretend to want a lot of sex after those times. I’d never experienced arousal until I moved here. I can get an erection and come on command, but I had never felt it, up here,” he taps his head, “or in here,” he taps his chest. “Not before Brady, my first-year roommate. He made me want to have sex for the sake of having it. Not because someone else wanted it. Like, he started it all.”</p>
<p>Sam rocks himself, petting the teddy. “I’ve always thought I was really good at hiding it. But Nick and his siblings figured it out. It’s like they could read me like an open book. Nick was sexually abused as a child. Do you think that’s why he could see it?” He opens his eyes and looks at Mrs. Rourke again - the well of knowledge.</p>
<p>“Very likely. Our experiences shape our perception. We interpret things based on what we know.”</p>
<p>Sam snaps a finger and points at Mrs. Rourke. “Oh, oh! Like the first time I saw the marks on Steve’s body and I asked him if it was from BDSM, because that’s where I’d gotten similar marks,” he says with a triumphant grin.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke smiles, humor dancing in her eyes. “Yes. That’s it.”</p>
<p>“What I don’t understand is… Why is it that I’m reacting so strongly now, anytime I think of what Dad and I did, when I didn’t care while it was happening? Like, I hated when I had my own room because he could and would wake me up at any time. But…” With determination, Sam says, “My dad raped me. He used me over and over and over until I could no longer discern what was normal.” He shakes his head. “I can’t make that make sense. If it was really rape, I wouldn’t have seduced him. Why would I seduce him if it was rape? Anytime I say it out loud, my instinctive thoughts add a ‘but’ and I tell myself he really had the right because he brought me into this world so I was his. And if I didn’t want it I wouldn’t have gotten mad when he brought a woman home and I wouldn’t have taken the initiative when he was in a bad mood.”</p>
<p>“Our brains are remarkable. They have all these functions and ways to deal with experiences that are too traumatic to deal with while they’re happening. Sort of if you’re wounded and bleeding and you’re being chased by a wild tiger, you don’t stop running to patch yourself up. For example, we can dissociate. It makes us feel detached from our surroundings and our bodies. We can suppress memories. We can get physical symptoms instead of mental ones, like headaches, stomach pains, numbness of limbs. In cases of sexual child abuse, regression is common, where the child goes back in its development and starts acting as it did when it was younger. There’s a long list of handy tools the brain uses to deal with trauma. That you’re experiencing problems now isn’t strange at all. You’re no longer chased by the tiger, so to speak, and don’t have to protect yourself the same way.”</p>
<p>Hadn’t Mike said something like it already? Sam feels kinda stupid for not listening. It’s like he needs to hear things over and over to believe it.</p>
<p>“As for why you’d seduce your dad even if you didn’t want it? There’s a very simple explanation for that, Sam,” Mrs. Rourke says kindly. “In situations where we have no control, we often seek to control what we can. It’s common for people who experience abuse to develop eating disorders or to work out obsessively. It’s a way for them to control their bodies when they can’t control anything else. In your case, the sexual abuse would’ve happened regardless, but when you were the aggressor you could control when and how it happened. If you’d seduced him, would he still wake you up in the middle of the night?”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head and rocks himself back and forth. He’s got a growing lump in his throat.</p>
<p>“Sam, what happened to you was an ongoing situation that you adapted to. Whatever you did, didn’t diminish the threat your father had hanging over your head. You bear no guilt in it. Even if you did, at times, take the initiative, it still wasn’t your fault. And I can with great certainty say, that if your father hadn’t continuously used you sexually since you were a small child, you would never have thought to act that way.”</p>
<p>Sam bends his head to hide his face in the soft fur of the teddy bear. His eyes sting and he can’t breathe. Tears well up, and the first sob tears free. He can stop himself from crying, hiccuping sob after sob. He hears Mrs. Rourke move closer and sit down on the table in front of him.</p>
<p>“Sam, would you like me to hold you?” she asks.</p>
<p>“<em>Please,</em>” Sam answers, still crying into the teddy bear. Mrs. Rourke moves to sit beside him and wraps her arms around him. Sam leans into her, hugging the bear to his chest, letting go to cry without restraint. He hears himself repeatedly asking, “<em>Why? Why? Why would he do that to me?</em>”</p>
<p>Eventually, the sobs subside. Mrs. Rourke lets go of him to reach for the napkin holder and holds it out to Sam. He takes a napkin to dab his eyes and blow his nose, then looks at Mrs. Rourke. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Sam.”</p>
<p>He knows it is. With her, he has no real fear of being judged. But still. “My dad raped me. He used me over and over until I didn’t know what is normal. Sorry, I have to repeat that. It’s hard to say and harder to believe. How do we fix me?” he asks.</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke smiles at him, friendly amusement twinkling in her eyes. “We define what problems you’re having, what thoughts that lead you to have those problems, and then we work to change the way you think about those things.”</p>
<p>“Good. Alright.” Sam looks down at the teddy with a regretful grimace. “Oh no. I got snot on your teddy bear…”</p>
<p>Mrs. Rourke’s laughter is contagious and Sam laughs along, despite it all. He feels light and floaty. He’s told an outsider and the sky didn’t come crashing down. It’s liberating.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nick can’t get out of his funk. He’s sitting by the long table, Keith to his left, Gabe and Ella to his right, Mike opposite him, a bunch of kids, and adults Chuck’s taken care of. Some of them Nick knows since they were here at the same time as him, growing up. Keith, the punk-ass teen who’d been here when Nick came to lament that he was running a queer safehouse, had apparently decided he was the least scary of all the strangers in the house.</p>
<p>Nick doesn’t know what to do with that.</p>
<p>Nick sits here, eating good food, laughing, joking, making sassy remarks, but on the inside, he feels fucking nothing. He’s out of place and alone, unlovable and ugly. He’s a little terrarium containing a desolate desert, placed amidst lush greenery.</p>
<p>Gabe’s texting under the table and Mike’s locked in an animated conversation with two teenagers. Ella’s looking mighty content. She’s had a secret smile ever since she arrived. Nick hates her for it.</p>
<p>Nick’s phone dings with an incoming notification. Discretely, he looks at his phone under the table. It’s just a notification that Dean’s posted a video. It’s tempting to watch it under the table but his headphones are in his jacket and it would set a bad example for Keith, not to mention Mike would kick his ass.</p>
<p>He mutes his phone and puts it in his pocket.</p>
<p>Apparently, he’d missed some signal because Gabe and Ella get up to leave and a few of the kids start clearing the table.</p>
<p>He looks at the clock on the wall, wondering how long he has to keep up appearance before he can dodge out of here, then nods a thank you with a small smile to the boy whisking his plate away. He turns to Keith. “So… How’s school going?” he asks conversationally.</p>
<p>“The fuck do you care?” Keith counters, jutting his chin just like Nick would’ve at that age.</p>
<p>Nick frowns. “Cut me some slack. It was the only non-creepy, non-inappropriate question I could think of.”</p>
<p>Keith looks skeptically at him for a beat, then smirks provocatively. “Why are you covered in glitter?”</p>
<p>Nick takes a deep breath, reminding himself that it would be rude to slap the kid. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Dean, one of the rainbow kids currently living with me, decided my aversion to glitter is to be treated with me always sparkling. He puts this shit in my shampoo.”</p>
<p>“So why not buy new shampoo and hide it in your room?”</p>
<p>“Because Dean can kick my ass,” Nick answers grumpily.</p>
<p>Keith laughs. “Alright. Um, school’s going pretty well now, I guess. I like shop class. I do pretty well in math class but I suck at spelling so English is, meh,” he says and wiggles his hand in a so and so gesture. “But at least I’m going now so Chuck’s happy.”</p>
<p>Nick’s about to tell Keith he used to think Chuck didn’t care because he was so lax, but that it was the other way around. But as he opens his mouth to speak someone cuts the light and Gabe comes leading the way into the room carrying a cake shooting sparklers, singing, “<em>Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…</em>”</p>
<p>Everyone around the table stands up, including Keith, the little shit, singing along looking at Nick.</p>
<p>Nick had thought they’d forgotten since not even Ella had told him ‘Happy birthday’. Or maybe that they’d listened to him when he said he hates it when people make a fuss about his birthday.</p>
<p>He doesn’t. But if he tells people not to make a fuss he doesn’t have to get disappointed if they don’t.</p>
<p>He’s got no idea what to do with himself now, so he just sits there, smiling awkwardly.</p>
<p>Gabe’s made the most extraordinary cake. It’s topped with a model of Nick himself with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against what appears to be a doorframe. The sparklers burn behind it, making it seem like Nick’s standing looking out from a burning building or something. The time and effort it must’ve taken to create a Barbie-sized model of Nick hits Nick straight in the heart. Gabe’s a talented artist and this is the shit he gets paid hard money to create. Usually, he doesn’t make elaborate things like this for them.</p>
<p>When everyone’s finished singing and cheered, the lights come on again and Nick waves his hand in the direction of the cake. “Fuck sake, Gabe. Please tell me that model is made of sugar or something I can save at least for a while.”</p>
<p>“You got it,” Gabe answers. “I’ll scoop it up and repackage it for you, but first, there are two other people who want to give you something. And they’ll make the doorframe make sense.” He steps aside to let Ella forth.</p>
<p>Ella’s carrying her laptop and puts it in front of him. “Dean and Steve made you something,” she says, gives his temple a brief kiss, and hits play.</p>
<p>It’s Dean’s latest YouTube video. It looks like they’ve made a short movie or something. Dean walks backwards out of a house, saying, ‘Just gonna nip down to the store. I’ll be back in five.’</p>
<p>“Dean Winchester’s the guy living with you?” Keith exclaims in surprise, one of the other boys, impressed, saying, “No way!” before they’re both hushed.</p>
<p>Nick nods in confirmation as the title card comes up. “The Light of Lucifer.” Then there’s a shot of Dean in the car, switching on the radio, and it’s starting to dawn on Nick what his boys have made for him.</p>
<p>His heart speeds up excitedly.</p>
<p>He was not prepared.</p>
<p>Nothing could’ve prepared him for this. As soon as the singing starts, the symbolism in the lyrics, <em>Steve</em> actually fucking singing, the cohesive storytelling, and kickass sound quality; they might as well have stabbed him.</p>
<p>He presses a hand over his mouth and blinks, feeling like the fucking Grinch, heart growing three sizes. Not only had his boys made a song for him that totally rocks, but they’ve taken significant time to create a video for it that really showed that he meant something to them. The fucking lyrics.</p>
<p>“<em>He takes my villain’s script, and tells me it’s his role to play<br/>So I can finally stay</em>”</p>
<p>How the fuck did they pin him down so accurately?</p>
<p>How the fuck can he sit here thinking he means nothing to nobody, when they so plainly demonstrate what he managed to accomplish while being on barely decent behavior?</p>
<p>He blinks tears out of his eyes as the music fades out and the ‘Happy birthday, Luci. And thank you.’ comes on screen, then looks around to see everyone looking at him, either expectantly or smiling. Chuck has the softest fucking smile. He knows. He knows this feeling. The feeling of having been given the most precious thing in the universe. He has to know it.</p>
<p>More stupid tears well up, but Nick’s cheeks are straining from the smile hidden under his hand. “Fuck sake. Will you excuse me? I need to go make a phone call,” he says and gets up, hurrying out of the room and the humiliation of everyone seeing him cry. He goes to the back of the house and leaves through the backdoor. He promptly sits down on the stairs and presses his fingers to his eyes to stop himself from bawling. He feels so fucking vulnerable.</p>
<p>A few deep breaths then he takes his phone out of his pocket to call Dean. Dean picks up on the first ring. “Y’ello,” he says.</p>
<p>“Fuck! Fuck sake, Dean! In what fucking universe did you think it was a good idea to make me cry in front of my extended family?”</p>
<p>“Yikes. You, uh, you didn’t like it then, huh?” Dean asks sheepishly.</p>
<p>“I fucking love it. It was fucking beautiful and I’m fucking mad because you’re not here so I can hug the life out of both of you,” Nick admits with a watery smirk.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Dean says, perking up. “Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker. Steve’s just as nervous as I am about what you’d think.” There’s a pause, then Dean says, “Alright, we’re back,” and Steve chimes in with a, “Happy birthday, bro.”</p>
<p>“I love you dumb fucks,” Nick says. “I love both of you. That’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received and I can’t express how much I needed it right now. Even if you two assholes made me cry in front of my family. I hate you for that, by the way.”</p>
<p>Dean and Steve laugh.</p>
<p>“Sorry, bro,” Steve says. “Dean wanted to wait and give it to you when you came home. But I was afraid you’d hate it so it would give you time to slap on a polite smile and pretend you liked it.”</p>
<p>“First off,” Nick says and holds up a finger they can’t see, “even if the song didn’t fucking rock, which it does, I still would’ve loved it because of all the work that went into it. That must’ve taken days to make. And how did you get the sound quality so good?”</p>
<p>“We rented a studio. A technician was included in the price, and he autotuned my ass to sound fucking good. Dean kept wanting to re-record and it took us a while to realize that Dean wanted the grittiness the guy toned down,” Steve sniggers.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that was some dumb shit. Once Joe figured out what I was after he just slid one of the sliders down and, bam, my voice was gritty again,” Dean chuckles.</p>
<p>“How long did you work on it? I remember you taking that footage of me talking to you in the car two weeks ago…” Nick grills them with questions, humility and tenderness growing the more details he gets about the making. Dean’s pissy about the continuity errors caused by cutting together shots that didn’t belong together. Nick hadn’t even noticed.</p>
<p>When they hang up Nick remains sitting on the stairs, smiling at the yard.</p>
<p>Eventually, someone comes out of the backdoor. He doesn’t turn around, and is therefore surprised when it’s Keith that sits down beside him. “I, uh, brought you cake?” the teenager says uncertainly and holds out a plate and a spoon, a slice of cherry-filled cake lying on its side.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Nick takes the offering and spoons a piece into his mouth. “Can you believe those assholes? I’m a fucking tough guy, and they had the audacity to make me cry like some hysterical 19th-century lady in front of all of you,” he complains.</p>
<p>Keith sniggers. “Yeah, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.” He hesitates, then, “Why did they call you Lucifer?”</p>
<p>“My stage name. Me and my brothers have a band called the Archangels. Mike and Gabe already have the right names, so,” Nick answers and shrugs.</p>
<p>“Did you get the lyrics?”</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“What does Thalia and Melpomene mean?” Keith asks curiously.</p>
<p>“It’s the smiling and frowning theater masks. Thalia is the smiling one. Dean’s like that. Always smiling, making people feel welcome. He’s not like you and me who act like tough assholes, but he hides the same vulnerability, fear, and anxiety underneath,” Nick explains. He thinks it’s beautiful. Social psychology is his favorite very much because of all the theater similes. It makes it so easy to understand.</p>
<p>Keith mulls it over while Nick spoons more cake in his mouth. He’s feeling really good right now, even enjoying the company of the inquisitive teenager putting his nose where it doesn’t belong. But somehow, Nick had earned that too. He knows Keith won’t cozy up to just anybody. None of the boys here at Chuck do. Some of the boys give Nick a wide berth but will make careful overtures towards Mike. It all boils down to how they’ve been hurt.</p>
<p>“What did they mean by, ‘they use his name in vain’? They were talking about you, weren’t they?” Keith asks.</p>
<p>Nick hums thoughtfully. “I’ll have to ask them to know for sure. But if I’d take a swing at analyzing… I think, maybe they’re referring to how if something goes wrong or someone gets upset, someone always asks, ‘Nick, what did you do this time?’ But since I took them in, mostly, I haven’t been at fault? Unless they’re reading my mind, that is. Nobody can trash-talk me like myself,” he says and nudges Keith playfully with his shoulder. “If you really want to know the meaning of the lyrics you should stop by sometime and ask Dean and Steve yourself.”</p>
<p>“I can do that? Wouldn’t he get mad that you invited some loser to talk to him without asking him?”</p>
<p>“Sure he would. But I didn’t invite a loser, I invited <em>you</em>. And believe me, that fucker has a soft spot for punks with an attitude or he wouldn’t put up with me,” Nick jokes and scrapes up the last of the cake from his plate. “Now come on. Let’s go back to the others. I want to know if they’ve eaten all of my cake.”</p>
<p>Inside, there are more gifts waiting for him, and, luckily, more cake. Nick finds himself having fun, the feeling of being in a desolate aquarium gone for now. It’s probably a temporary respite, but it’s enough.</p>
<p>When he gets home he hugs both Steve and Dean for a good long time, telling them how good and wonderful they are and how happy he is that they’re in his life. Dean’s the one to get flustered and try to squirm out of it, while Steve puts up with it, countering with, “Same, bro. Same.”</p>
<p>The Winchesters’ uncle Bobby turns out to be a nice if somewhat grumpy guy, and both Sam and Dean are visibly very happy to have him there. Nick’s house is full of people he knows and loves, and he and Ella lie talking until 3 AM. He falls asleep with a content smile on his lips.</p>
<hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry for neglecting adding commentary. I'm studying hard right now and writing in itself is taking a lot of time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. Thanksgiving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean gives Mike a present, sort of. Nick sways the thoughts of three people - two of them in a good way. Mike tries very hard to discuss something serious with Dean while drunk.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Warnings:</b><br/>-homophobic slurs<br/>-brief mention of past miscarriages<br/>-mentions of past child abuse</p>
<p>So, I was asked if there was any way to show appreciation and support me. And yes. There is. I have a <a href="https://www.buymeacoffee.com/coplins">Buymeacoffee</a> page in case you feel like making a donation. I've just never bothered to announce it because... well, I don't know. But if you'd like to show your support right now while student loans and grants are my only source of income, you can do so here: <a href="https://www.buymeacoffee.com/coplins">https://www.buymeacoffee.com/coplins</a><br/>Of course, I'll still keep writing regardless and publishing no matter if you do or not. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>“Good morning my lovelies,” Nick purrs, strolling into the kitchen, smelling freshly showered, with skin and hair twinkling with fine silver glitter.</p>
<p>Dean smiles to himself, flipping a pancake. Yesterday Bobby had cursed about forgetting his shower gel and Dean had magnanimously told him he could use any of the stuff in the bathroom, forgetting they currently only had silver-laced glittery gel. Dean’s been giggling to himself ever since Bobby came down to join the crowd at the breakfast table, hair, beard, and skin as glittery as the rest of them. Mike and Dean had showered together, choosing the laced gel with no qualms. Sam had been too tired to notice, subsequently glittering like a little princess. Steve and Ella were uncontaminated. Ella used her own chick-smelling stuff, and Steve had his own gel that he kept in his room - away from Dean’s shenanigans. And Gabe hadn’t showered yet. He was going to shower at home before he joined Annie at her family’s Thanksgiving dinner.</p>
<p>Nick sidles up to Dean. “Good morning, mon cher Bonbon,” he says and leans in for his morning kiss while reaching for a coffee cup in the cupboard.</p>
<p>“Morning, my little noodle spoon,” Dean says and receives the brief touch of lips on his, sending a jolt through his body followed by a surge of guilt. He’s so fucking torn. Yesterday as it was getting late Nick had pulled him aside upstairs to explain how much the video had meant to him. It had ended with them trading slow kisses for several minutes while Sam and Mike were oblivious downstairs. It’s tearing Dean apart. It’s not the first time Dean’s been caught between several love interests. Anytime he stayed longer than 6 to 8 weeks in a place multiple lovers usually kinda happened by itself no matter how many times he swore to himself that it wouldn’t. But this is the first time his feelings are so strong for both the contenders. Not that Nick’s actually contending for Dean, but whatever.</p>
<p>“Noodle spoon?” Nick scoffs and pours himself coffee. “Who the hell eats noodles with a spoon? I fucking hate anytime you call me noodle. It makes it sound like I got a small dick. And let me tell you, I’ve got some impressive girth.”</p>
<p>“Hey, it’s not the size, it’s what you do with it,” Dean quips, thriving at the laughter it causes by the table.</p>
<p>“Bad turn worse,” Mike remarks at the same time as Gabe says, “You walked right into that one.”</p>
<p>Nick grumbles and tries to hide a smile before going to the table to greet Sam with a proper kiss. Right in front of Bobby, no less. Bobby’s cool with it, though. Dean had been nervous about PDA with Mike in front of Bobby, and nervous about Ella too. But Bobby was unfazed. Nick sits down on Sam’s lap, neglecting the set of folding chairs someone had given him for his birthday yesterday.</p>
<p>“You should be glittering too,” Sam tells Steve.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m gay, but I ain’t no fairy,” Steve grumbles.</p>
<p>“Are you sure? It didn’t look like it at the costume fitting for the Britney Spears thing,” Gabe remarks.</p>
<p>Steve sniggers. “No shit. I was questioning my sexuality.”</p>
<p>Dean spins around and spreads his hands wide. “<em>Dude.</em> You’re fucking gay already!”</p>
<p>“You were wearing a fucking skirt and makeup, bro. I’ve told you sissies don’t do it for me. But there was nothing sissy about you, and short, plaited, plaid skirts might’ve made it to my barely existing list of kinks because of it,” Steve argues.</p>
<p>“Okay, what did I miss?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>“I got an idea to film the school corridor dance scene from Baby One More Time. The choreography is iconic enough that we could change a few aspects of it and people would still think of it. Like, I was wearing a tight, white shirt, a skirt, and combat boots. Not tryna look like a girl,” Dean says and scoops up another pancake on a plate and goes to deliver the first stack to the table.</p>
<p>“When the hell did you have time for all this?” Nick asks.</p>
<p>“It’s only a coupla seconds,” Dean says almost defensively and goes back to pour more batter in the frying pan. “I get there early when I go to pick up Sam and hog the gang for a bit between classes while waiting. It was no big deal, really. I already knew the choreography. Just needed to dust it off and we shot the scene a few days later.”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em> already knew it, asswipe. The rest of us had to practice,” Steve grumps. “Which was fucking fun, but you missed it,” he adds with a smirk.</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Some of us ain’t got daytime jobs like you schmoozers.”</p>
<p>“Were you also dressed like a schoolgirl?” Ella asks Steve.</p>
<p>Steve sputters. “Like hell I was! No way. <em>Not</em> happening.”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “Did you read the comments on the music video? Some bastard pointed out that the sidewalk shots didn’t match so I turned off notifications. Now I’m fretting because I don’t know if the guy from Omegle commented and I promised I’d always answer him,” he says, flipping another pancake.</p>
<p>“Steve lay awake answering comments until 4 AM,” Sam informs them.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m fucking <em>proud</em>, okay?” Steve says. “I’m not creative like all you fuckers. But I was part of this every step of the way. I got a word in on the lyrics, I was part of writing the melody, not a huge part, but fuck it. I was. And then we came up with the story together, I acted, I played drums, I fucking <em>sang</em>. You don’t think I was fucking terrified when we uploaded it? It was different than any other video I’ve been in because then I was just lurking, doing my thing, or following instructions. But this? It was worse than bringing home the first drawing I made in school, I was so nervous.”</p>
<p>“This is an excellent time to do the pride exercise,” Nick says.</p>
<p>Dean whines. “Nooo. Do we have to? I just woke up. I haven’t done anything to be proud of yet. If you don’t count bringing Mike to completion, which I did. Twice. But I can’t say that in front of Bobby.”</p>
<p>As expected, it makes everyone by the table laugh―including Bobby―but, apparently, it doesn’t deter Nick. “It’s Thanksgiving. I’ll let you use your lifetime achievements,” Nick offers generously. As if somehow that would make things easier.</p>
<p>“Oh! Oh! Can I go first?” Sam enthuses. “Technically, Steve was first, but can I go second?”</p>
<p>“Go right ahead,” Mike encourages.</p>
<p>“I’m proud that I dared to tell my therapist something very significant yesterday,” Sam says, voice so full of pride Dean has to throw a look over his shoulder to watch him beam. “I cried, but the talk that came afterward felt very constructive. I’ve never felt so raw after a session before, but at the same time, I felt liberated.”</p>
<p>“You told her?” Nick asks with a surprised, positive lilt to his tone. When Sam grins and nods, Nick hums appreciatively and kisses Sam’s temple, saying, “Well done.”</p>
<p>It’s on the tip of Dean’s tongue to ask what Sam told his therapist, but as soon as the thought flits into his head his gut squeezes with anxiety. Whatever it is, it’s Dean’s fault. It’s gotta be, right? Dean had one job - to protect and care for Sam. Sam needs fucking therapy so Dean fucked up.</p>
<p>Dean keeps his mouth shut and focuses on making another stack of pancakes. If Sam wanted to tell them, he would’ve told them.</p>
<p>“I’m proud that I forced my way through fear of disappointment and rejection and opened up to my girlfriend,” Ella says. “It seems like we might actually stand a chance despite her having a sex drive and me being ace. We’re working out a middle ground, so we’ll see where it leads.”</p>
<p>“What’s ace?” Bobby asks.</p>
<p>“Asexual,” Mike answers.</p>
<p>“It’s when you don’t experience sexual attraction,” Sam clarifies.</p>
<p>“I know what it is, boy, I’d just never heard it referred to as ace,” Bobby grumps.</p>
<p>Steve sputters. “You’re shitting me. <em>How</em> do you know it? It’s like you’re set on fucking with all my stereotypes. Sir.”</p>
<p>Bobby chuckles and Dean cackles. Dean turns around. “Y’all missed Steve accidentally insulting Bobby I dunno how many times,” he sniggers.</p>
<p>“<em>I’m sorry</em>, okay? He just doesn’t look like someone who knows how computers work, okay?” Steve defends.</p>
<p>Bobby chuckles. “I ain’t no idjit, son.”</p>
<p>“Nah, but I get where Steve’s coming from. It surprised me too, to be honest. Like, come on,” Dean says, “Dad’s laptop still runs on Windows ‘98 for fuck sake. I wasn’t expecting you to give me a scolding for using a subpar Antivirus program and not having a VPN,” he says with a grin and loads the last batch of pancakes on a plate.</p>
<p>“Well, that’s taken care of now, at least,” Bobby says as Dean turns off the stove and comes to the table. “Ain’t no one wanting the government or big tech company come rootin’ in yer personal stuff.”</p>
<p>“At least <em>that</em> fits the stereotype,” Steve mutters, making the group laugh.</p>
<p>“True that,” Dean says. “Bobby ain’t exactly making tin foil hats, but he does have a nuclear shelter in his basement.”</p>
<p>“No shit?” Steve asks Bobby, raising his eyebrows as if he’s impressed.</p>
<p>“Yup. During the cold war, it seemed like a reasonable thing to build. And with the experiments the military subjected soldiers to back in the days, I think I’m entitled to a measure of paranoia,” Bobby answers with a small smirk.</p>
<p>“<em>Cool</em>,” Steve says.</p>
<p>“Yeah, it is,” Dean agrees and pours maple syrup over his pancakes. “Four people can last five years down there.”</p>
<p>“Four people? I thought you live alone?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>“In case nukes start rainin’ from the sky, I was hopin’ John would have the sense to bring his boys to safety,” Bobby answers and sips his coffee.</p>
<p>“We’re getting off track,” Nick decides. “Gabe, what are you proud of?”</p>
<p>“I’m proud of having become the joint owner of an apartment big enough to house a whole family,” Gabe answers and holds up a key.</p>
<p>“Gabe, it’s madness! Not something to be proud of,” Mike protests.</p>
<p>“Nu-uh-uh,” Nick scolds. “You know the rules. Don’t shit on other people’s pride.”</p>
<p>“I for one think it’s awesome,” Dean says, looking at Gabe and covering his mouth with a hand to hide the food he’s chewing. “Can’t wait to start fixing her up.”</p>
<p>“Is there a backstory to that?” Bobby asks, and Dean and Mike briefly explains, with different levels of enthusiasm. Bobby chuckles. “Well, the heart wants what it wants. It mighta been rash but since yer set on that path, I wish good luck to ya,” he tells Gabe.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Gabe grins.</p>
<p>“I guess it’s my turn now,” Bobby says. “I’m proud to have had a hand in raisin’ this boy to the fine man he’s become,” he says and reaches out to give Dean’s shoulder a squeeze, causing a glow of warmth in Dean’s chest, even if he isn’t half the man Bobby thinks he is. “After the divorce―” Bobby goes on but Dean interrupts him.</p>
<p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it right there. Divorce? You’ve been married? You’ve never told me that?”</p>
<p>“I thought you knew, son. I got married to Karen at 17. All was fine until I came back from the war. Bought the old junkyard, and was doin’ alright selling junk and restoring cars. But then we wanted to start a family.”</p>
<p>“What happened?” Ella asks.</p>
<p>Bobby sighs and leans back, scratching his neck. “Three miscarriages. Took one helluva toll on the relationship. I suggested adoption but she didn’t want that. I started drinkin’ too much, and finally, she left me. It was about the same time Mary Winchester died. Went kinda off the rails from there. Then, about two years later, I find John at my doorstep, askin’ if I can babysit for a few days. I’d say those days saved me from drownin’ in the bottle. Nuthin’ like havin’ two rambunctious kids runnin’ around to make you get yer act together.”</p>
<p>That causes laughter around the table. “Shit, I wished that was true for everybody,” Mike states.</p>
<p>“On the upside, if all of us had parents that thought that way, none of us would’ve met,” Gabe points out.</p>
<p>“Sam and I would still have met,” Steve argues.</p>
<p>“No,” Sam counters. “If Dad had his act together he wouldn’t have torn my first acceptance letter and I would’ve gone to Harvard instead.”</p>
<p>“You got into <em>Harvard</em>?!” Dean says incredulously.</p>
<p>“I mean, yeah. But Dad tore the letter,” Sam repeats. “That’s when I ran away as soon as I found the second one from this school.”</p>
<p>“In that case, bro, I’m fucking grateful. Bros for life,” Steve says and taps his chest with a fist, right over the heart.</p>
<p>Sam smiles and mirrors the gesture.</p><hr/>
<p>Dean’s scrubbing furiously at a spot on the staircase railing, trying to get his heart to calm down. Nick walks up the stairs and stops behind Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. He quietly watches Dean for a few seconds before he asks, “What are you OCDing about?”</p>
<p>“I’m not OCDing,” Dean answers curtly.</p>
<p>“Darlin’, you’ve been using a rag trying to remove a shadow for several minutes,” Nick drawls.</p>
<p>“A <em>what</em>?” Dean removes the rag to realize that it is, in fact, a shadow. “Goddammit!”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “So… why are you fretting?” he tries needling again.</p>
<p>Dean turns towards him and runs a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing. I’m about to upload a video. It’s a present for Mike, kinda. I’m a bit nervous and can’t decide whether to show him or let him discover it himself.”</p>
<p>“Is it another music video?”</p>
<p>Dean huffs a small laugh. “Nah. Hey, why don’t you come watch it and you decide whether to show him or not?”</p>
<p>“Alright,” Nick agrees.</p>
<p>“Great,” Dean says and bounds up the stairs towards his room with Nick following. “The thing I’m nervous about is that it won’t work and then instead of being a gift it might fill him with false hope and make him disappointed. You’ll see what I mean.” He sits down by his computer, brings up the video, then gets out of his chair for Nick to sit. He goes to fetch a folding chair but Nick hooks an arm around his midriff and pulls him down onto Nick’s lap, causing more nervous fluttering of another kind as Nick loosely wraps his arms around his midriff to keep him in place. Dean almost wishes they weren’t alone at home. Sam, Steve, and Bobby went to get something Sam forgot at his dorm, Gabe’s gone home to spend Thanksgiving with Annie’s family, and Mike’s driving Ella to the airport. Dean hits play, wondering why the fuck he can’t be normal and feel this way for only one person.</p>
<p>On screen, Dean’s sitting by his desk, looking seriously at the camera. “Guys, I need your help to find a missing person,” he says. There’s a jumpcut to him walking in a poorer neighborhood with small, one-story houses and trailers. He’s filming himself with a selfie-stick. “The year is 1993. Michael Matthew Novak lives in Ramona, California, in a neighborhood much like this one. He’s six years old and lives with his mother and his three-year-old brother Castiel James Novak. Their abusive dad walked out on them a while back and their mom isn’t coping very well.”</p>
<p>Nick reaches out and hits pause. “I can tell you right away that we’re going to show this to him. He’s long since given up on finding Cas, but this shit’s gonna make Mikey cry and since you made me cry, that fucker might as well cry in front of everyone too. I demand justice.”</p>
<p>Dean sniggers. “You think he’ll be mad?”</p>
<p>“No. He’ll be touched whether it works or not,” Nick answers. Then his lips pull into a devious smirk. “Besides, you made him sign that contract that lets you post whateverfuck you want about him.”</p>
<p>Dean huffs an awkward laugh. “Yeah. I needed him to sign specifically so I could make this,” he admits.</p>
<p>“Clever boy,” Nick praises and hits play again.</p>
<p>“On this particular day,” on-screen Dean says and stops, image changing to a shot of an ironing board while Dean’s voice continues, “Six-year-old Mike was doing the laundry while his mom lay unconscious in bed. He was ironing clothes when his little brother Cas interrupted him because he was hungry, so Mike left what he was doing to go make Cas his favorite dinner - fruit loops.” In the background of the scene, an ominous tone plays, a child is crying and the hot iron lies abandoned face down on a shirt. The camera zooms in slowly on the shirt starting to smoke, then cuts to a chair standing with its back to an open, mostly empty cupboard, indicating it has been put there by a child to reach the top shelves where the fruit loops are. Cut to a bowl of fruitloops on a kitchen table and Dean’s voiceover continues. “Mike goes to tell Cas his dinner is served, and finds him lifeless in their mom’s bedroom on the floor. When Mike can’t wake either Cas or their mom, he calls 911.”</p>
<p>One of Nick’s hands moves in under Dean’s shirt to caress his belly lightly. Dean pretends as if he doesn’t notice. But he notices, alright. He fucking notices. The ominous background tone on the video gets louder. There’s a shot of an ambulance with flashing lights outside of a trailer home. “I used stock video footage for that one. I’m telling you, those sites are goldmines for this shit,” Dean tells Nick to cover up his nerves. “I considered using Annie’s nephews to reenact the whole scene but I’m still a bit iffy about using real kids in videos, so I chose not to until I’ve read up on laws surrounding that. Then I green-screened the next shot and it was hell getting the lighting right to make it quasi-believable.”</p>
<p>On-screen Dean narrates, “Cas was rushed to the hospital and as a paramedic talked to Mike, trying to piece together what had happened, the smoke alarm went off due to a fire started by the clothes iron Mike had abandoned to make dinner.” Dean steps into view in front of the house with the ambulance and goes on to tell them, “This was the last time Mike ever saw his brother. The CPS got involved. Mike’s mom died a few weeks after her kids were taken from her, and Cas, who survived, got adopted by a married couple with the surname Johnson. Mike was promised he’d get to visit Cas, but that didn’t happen. Instead he was pinballed from one foster home to another for a couple of years until he ended up at a home for boys.”</p>
<p>The image transitions from the green screen to Dean sitting by the kitchen table downstairs. “Now it’s 2017, and Mike’s still looking for his brother.” Dean gives the camera an earnest expression. “I need your help. Back when I started this channel I thought that maybe a couple of hundreds of my old friends that I had to leave behind through the years would watch me. As of recording this, I’m almost at 50k subscribers, which, mind <em>blown</em>. Thank you. I’m so fu*<em>bleep</em>*ng humbled y’all got no idea. I’ve set up an email address and a PO box so y’all can contact me if you have any information. It’s all down in the description. What we know about Cas is that his new family didn’t like his name and opted to call him James or Jimmy instead, then they got a divorce and Cas moved out of state with his mom, who remarried someone named Williams. Then they probably moved abroad and the trail goes dead.”</p>
<p>“All I can give you to describe Cas is that he has blue eyes and dark hair and is 27 years old. That’s it. Mike doesn’t have any photos.” On-screen Dean holds up a finger to make a point. “I’ve withheld certain details about why Cas ended up lifeless on the floor on purpose. I would think those closest to him would know the details and it gives us something to help confirm his identity. So if you know any James Johnson, James Williams, or, heh, I guess any James, Castiel, or Jimmy who’s 27 years old, please show them this video. And, Cas, if you’re watching...”</p>
<p>There’s another seamless transition of Dean lying on his back in bed filming with a selfie stick, one hand pillowing his head. “...I get that you might not want anything to do with your big brother. Heck, maybe you blame him for what happened. He certainly does. If that’s case, I beg you, please send me a mail and tell me that. Mike’s been worrying about you for 24 years. Just put his mind at ease. That’s all I’m asking. But before you make your mind up, let me introduce you to your big brother…”</p>
<p>Nick hits pause. “I just need to say, your transitions are flawless.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? There’s a guy who’s been an editor for what’s-his-face, that popular douchebag? Jake Paul? Anyway, this editor guy posts how-to videos, and he had one that showed how to make those when you keep the face in the same angle and size and quickly morphs from one scene to another it looks kickass.”</p>
<p>“You’re such a quick learner,” Nick praises.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Dean mumbles shyly, suddenly feeling flustered. He reaches out and hits play again to escape more compliments.</p>
<p>The scene cuts to Mike wearing his work clothes and glasses, reading a newspaper in Mike’s kitchen, Dean filming with a handheld camera. “There he is. Everybody, this is Mike. The most gorgeous, sexy guy in the world. The guy that made me realize I’m bisexual.”</p>
<p>Mike grins and bends his head, cheeks coloring a deep crimson. “Do you have to say that anytime you film me? I’m not sexy,” he refutes.</p>
<p>It’s interspersed by a short clip of him performing at their Halloween gig, oozing sex appeal, then Dean counters, “Yeeah. Let me be the judge of that. How ‘bout you tell the internet a little bit about yourself?”</p>
<p>“Okay. What does the internet want to know?” Mike says and takes off his glasses, folding them neatly on top of his newspaper.</p>
<p>“Honestly? The internet seems to want to see us twerk, more than anything, at least according to the comment section.” Dean turns the camera on himself briefly to say, “Sorry, not sorry, but that ain’t gonna happen,” then goes back to filming Mike. It’s a short interview where Mike gives them very little, saying he’s an accountant and that his passion in life is music. With some coaxing, he tells them he has three brothers and one sister, and that one of those brothers is his biological brother he hasn’t seen since he was six. “You still think of him?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>Mike sighs and presses his lips into a defeated smile. “A few times a week, at least.”</p>
<p>The video cuts back to Dean walking on a forest trail. “It wouldn’t be fair to tell y’all who Mike is without asking those who know him best. So I’ll let his brothers tell you too.” That cuts to a scene when Andy’s filming Gabe and Dean cooking something together, and Dean grilling Gabe about Mike, asking what good sides he has. Gabe comes up with quite a list. Then Dean asks him if Mike has any bad sides.</p>
<p>“You can bet your snickerdoodle on that!” Gabe complains. “He’s just so darn sensible all the time.” He rants for a little while about how damn sensible Mike is and how he should follow his heart more often, but really, it’s just Gabe venting Mike opposing his rash decision to buy a fixer-upper with Annie.</p>
<p>Next up, Dean pesters Nick while Nick’s folding his laundry into his closet. “Bad sides? You want a *<em>bleep</em>*ing list? I’ll give you a list,” Nick says testily. “He’s always, ‘Nick, don’t do this’, ‘Don’t do that’, ‘Nick, think before you speak’, ‘Nick, you shouldn’t say that or someone might feel hurt.’ That’s the fucking point!” He abandons his laundry to stomp up to Dean and look straight into the camera, pointing at it. “If you didn’t want to get hurt, you shouldn’t have spoken to me. You shouldn’t have looked at me. You shouldn’t *<em>bleep</em>*ing have existed in my general vicinity. You had it coming,” he declares and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “His moral compass is set in stone with no moving parts. Mine is spinning out of control like, ‘North? No, I don’t know her.’ Just strap yourself in and hope for the best.”</p>
<p>Nick stomps back to continue filling his wardrobe. By now the camera’s shaking with Dean’s badly suppressed sniggers. Nick goes on. “That idiot had compassion left to waste on his bullies, growing up. *<em>bleep</em>*ing *<em>bleep</em>*. Crippling shyness! He’s so shy that if he has to make a phone call to a stranger he has to work up courage for ten minutes to an hour beforehand. If he calls to ask someone on a date he sweats so much he has to change his shirt after the call no matter how short it is. Anxiety! We had to cancel our first ever gig because that *<em>bleeeep</em>* was having a panic attack in the bathroom and couldn’t come out. Abandonment issues. He’s too damn nice! He’ll let anyone walk all over him and stays loyal anyway unless we are there to make sure he isn’t taken advantage of.”</p>
<p>“No offense, but none of those sound like bad sides,” Dean remarks, sniggering.</p>
<p>Nick once again abandons his wardrobe to walk up to speak directly to the camera. “Look, darlin’,” he drawls, “Mike’s a genuinely, to his core, good person. No matter how much life has *<em>bleep</em>*ed him up, it couldn’t beat that out of him. He messes up sometimes like everyone else, but it never comes from a place of malice. But life <em>has</em> *<em>bleep</em>*ed him up and left scars that affects both his daily life and ours. I love that mother*<em>bleeep</em>* like life itself, but he has faults.” Suddenly further incensed he glares at Dean beside the camera. “He writes songs nobody ever gets to hear! The insolence!” Then he turns to stomp back, but stops halfway, spins around and gestures demandingly at the camera, “Play the *<em>bleep</em>*ing songs, Mikey!” At that point Dean’s laughing too hard to keep the camera steady and it cuts to the outro where Dean once again pleads with the public to help find Cas and shows the email address and PO box address on screen before the video ends.</p>
<p>Nick’s hugging Dean to his chest, laughing silently into his back, shaking with it. “It sounds even worse when you bleep me,” Nick laughs.</p>
<p>“I didn’t want this particular video to get restricted or suppressed,” Dean defends with a grin.</p>
<p>“It’s fucking perfect. Mike will love it no matter the result,” Nick purrs and rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder with a content smirk. “We’ll use my laptop to show him.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? Alright.”</p>
<p>Nick hums and looks over Dean’s shoulder, down at his lap. “So… there’s something I’ve been putting off talking to you about. Do you usually go bare with Mikey?” he asks and shamelessly cups Dean between the legs.</p>
<p>“N-no? Mike would remember to put on condoms in his fucking sleep,” Dean answers nervously.</p>
<p>Nick squeezes pleasantly and hums. “How about everyone else you’ve fucked lately?”</p>
<p>“It hasn’t been that many,” Dean says defensively.</p>
<p>“But did you use protection?” Nick insists, massaging Dean’s dick that’s starting to fill without Dean’s sayso.</p>
<p>“I mean…” Dean fumbles for words. He’s not sure. He tries to always remember it, but if he’s drunk? He’s got a fail margin.</p>
<p>“That’s a no. So here’s what we’re going to do. Next week you and I will stop by a clinic and get ourselves tested. It’s not optional.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got an STD?”</p>
<p>“Not that I’m aware of. But I’d like to keep it that way,” Nick answers and starts unbuckling Dean’s belt, sending Dean’s pulse racing.</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay…” Dean agrees, both to go to the clinic and to whatever dumbfuck stupid idea that Nick’s initiated for them.</p>
<p>But then they hear the downstairs door, followed by Mikey calling out, “I’m back!”</p>
<p>Nick’s arm tightens around Dean’s midriff, hindering him from bolting, then unrushedly closing Dean’s belt again. “You know, it would only take one little two-letter word to stop me. I hear the word ‘no’ and all this goes away,” he says, then yells, “Up here!”</p>
<p>“I know,” Dean says, swallowing dryly.</p>
<p>“Do you? Good to know,” Nick says and pats Dean’s hip in a non-verbal command to get up. “You can go ahead and upload. If Mike’s here already the others can’t be far behind. I’ll go get my laptop and check on the turkey,” he says. He’s so fucking calm and Dean fucking hates him for it.</p>
<p>Thing is, Dean can never tell when something like this is going to happen. Nick’s completely unpredictable and just as unflappable.</p>
<p>Dean’s left alone with maggots of anxiety crawling under his skin.</p><hr/>
<p>It gets worse. As Nick predicted, the video makes Mike cry. Then laugh at Nick’s annoyed roast when describing Mike’s bad sides. Mike’s so fucking grateful for Dean’s gift, if you can call it that, that Dean feels nauseous thinking about how he didn’t remove Nick’s hand as soon as it went where it shouldn’t.</p>
<p>It’s worse over dinner when Bobby asks if they’re dating seriously or just having some fun.</p>
<p>“Um. I mean, uh… not yet?” Dean stumbles over his words answering.</p>
<p>“Speak for yourself,” Mike chuckles and puts his arm on the armrest behind Dean with a warm smile for Dean before looking at Bobby. “I know Dean isn’t ready to settle down yet but I’m not seeing anyone else, Sir. I’d be the happiest man alive if he one day decided to make me his forever after.”</p>
<p>“And if that doesn’t happen?” Bobby asks.</p>
<p>Mike shrugs with a serene smile. “Then at least I got to spend some wonderful months dating a man I’m in love with. And Dean will have to put up with one to two weeks of too many missed calls and texts before I realize and accept I’m well and truly ditched,” he adds with a grin.</p>
<p>Only, that’s not what’s going to happen. Mike’s gonna realize what a loser Dean really is and ditch the fuck outta him. Mike’s too fucking good for him and Dean knows it.</p>
<p>Overall, Thanksgiving dinner is great, though. Sam and Steve sit by the far end of the table, Dean and Nick opposite each other in the middle, and Mike and Bobby opposite each other on the other side of the table, with Mike beside Dean. The food is great and the alcohol flows.</p>
<p>Naturally, as things progress, more controversial topics are brought up. Things Dean could’ve done without having discussed with Bobby at the table.</p>
<p>“It’s not a fetish, asshole!” Steve says with peeved vehemence.</p>
<p>“Is too!” Sam counters.</p>
<p>“The hell it is! It’s a fucking preference. A fetish is <em>abnormal</em> gratification from the thing, which I <em>don’t</em> get so fuck the everloving shit out of you,” Steve spits angrily.</p>
<p>“What? What did I miss?” Nick says excitedly from the other end of the table. Everyone is getting fairly drunk by now and the volume has gone up.</p>
<p>“Sam says I’m fetishizing black men,” Steve answers sourly.</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Calling your best friend a racist on Thanksgiving? Smooth, Sammy.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t! I said―”</p>
<p>“Oh, but you did,” Nick cuts in. “By saying he’s reducing the guy he’s dating to nothing but the color of his skin, that’s exactly what you’re saying. It isn’t true, by the way. Steve thinks there are a lot of hot black guys, but for him to be remotely interested in them they need to check about 7 other boxes. But even if it was, does it matter? If we’re talking about a simple hookup, does it matter if we hook up with them because we fetishize an aspect of their physique? Provided, of course, that we still treat them like human beings?”</p>
<p>“Oh, great. Can we not do this again?” Mike complains.</p>
<p>“Again?” Dean asks.</p>
<p>“We have this discussion every time we visit Ella and her roommate Cassandra is there, because once Cassandra said that all trans chasers should be shot and Nick takes offense to anything she says and decided to be contrarian,” Mike explains.</p>
<p>“All I’m saying is, that if I go out specifically to get laid, anyone is just a hole to me. If I should happen to get extra gratification out of them missing an arm, having a certain skin color, being trans, or whateverfuck, who gives a damn? As long as we’re two consenting adults both set on smashing?”</p>
<p>Dean barely withholds a wince. He knows Nick isn't exactly looking to start a serious relationship with him but it still sucks to be nothing but a hole.</p>
<p>"Why do you have to make yourself sound like a bigger asshole than you are?" Mike asks Nick annoyedly and gestures with his wine glass. "You get emotionally attached to people who as much as says hello to you. And if they let you have sex with them it's ten times worse. That's your main issue for crying out loud. You like people!"</p>
<p>Nick gasps and puts a hand to his chest as if Mike just threw the worst insult at him. "I do <em>not</em>."</p>
<p>"You most certainly do," Mike argues. "And you know full well what's bad about fetishizing people. Then you dehumanize them and make it all about an aspect of them that's often the root of a lot of trauma. It can trigger gender dysphoria, solidify negative, internalized stereotypes, memories of past trauma. And <em>nobody</em> wants to be thought of as just a hole, even if it's just a hookup."</p>
<p>"That's too bad because that's the gender norms we as a society impart on any woman ever. If we..."</p>
<p>Instead of listening, Dean throws a glance at Bobby to see how he’s reacting to all this. Bobby catches him looking and asks, “Are they always like this?”</p>
<p>Mike answers in Dean’s stead. “Yes. And don’t listen to him when he’s like this. He’s only arguing for the sake of arguing and can pick whichever side as long it’s the opposite.”</p>
<p>Nick leans back, sniggering. “That’s true, actually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A while later the discussion yet again creeps into territory Dean finds a bit embarrassing to discuss in front of Bobby, no matter how chill Bobby might seem. Yet again, it originates at Sam and Steve’s end of the table, fuelled by alcohol-loose tongues. “...should be illegal. They don’t even know it but they’re seeking to continue their own abuse, fucking them up even further,” Steve’s saying.</p>
<p>Dean’s not really listening. He’s engaged in a discussion about classic cars with Bobby and Nick, when Nick suddenly snaps his fingers and points at Steve, breaking off mid-sentence. “Nu-uh-uh. Now you’re just reiterating what your hipster SJW crush says about the subject. But in reality, should those things be made illegal, the supposed abuse victims of yours are the people who it will hit the hardest.”</p>
<p>“What did we miss?” Mike asks. He’s been sitting leaned back with an arm around Dean’s back and a content smile, cheeks alcohol-rosy, with a faraway look in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Steve said BDSM should be forbidden. That it’s harmful, further objectifies women, and that abuse victims who don’t know anything else are drawn to it, furthering their own abuse,” Nick explains.</p>
<p>“That’s bullshit,” Mike mutters, lifts his glass to drink just to discover it’s empty. Bobby holds out the wine bottle to refill it for him.</p>
<p>“Normally I’d argue, cards unseen,” Steve says, “but since you usually have smart things to say, let’s hear it.”</p>
<p>“First of all, it’s based in too puritanical thinking, that no so-called problematic thing should be allowed to ever exist, as if never talking about an issue it somehow disappears. It doesn’t work―”</p>
<p>Sam, looking as drowsy-happy-drunk as Mike, interrupts, saying, “If everyone chooses to close themselves off to uncomfortable truths, those who live those uncomfortable truths are doomed to live that way forever.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Nick agrees, then looking at Steve again. “Your statement is based on a lack of understanding of BDSM. If done right, the dominant part isn’t in control, the submissive is. And, more importantly, it’s safe, sane, and consensual. And, to address what you said about abuse victims. Yes, there are people with similar experiences as you who seek the BDSM community out. But they’re no more prolonging their abuse than you are anytime you go out there to practice self-defense with Dean.”</p>
<p>“That’s not the same,” Steve protests.</p>
<p>“Why not?” Nick asks and leans back in his chair with a smirk and a victorious gleam in his eyes.</p>
<p>Steve blinks, draws breath to answer, then deflates. “Your expression tells me it somehow is the same and I’m not seeing it. So why is it the same?”</p>
<p>“When you go out there to practice with Dean, are you scared?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“You were terrified of your dad. You know that Dean’s a lethal motherfucker who’s trained hand-to-hand combat since he was a kid, with the intention to take out the enemy any way possible. You know he’s going to hit you, and it’s going to hurt. Why aren’t you scared?”</p>
<p>“I know he’s not going to harm me.”</p>
<p>“You trust him?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course I trust him.”</p>
<p>“And what happens if he hits too hard, or hits somewhere he didn’t intend to hit. That must’ve happened at least once or twice, right? What happens then?” Nick needles.</p>
<p>“He stops and checks if I’m alright,” Steve answers dutifully.</p>
<p>“Do you see where I’m going with this? It’s about control, Steve. If the former abuse victim finds a serious Dominant they talk through what he or she may or may not do. They have a safeword or a signal that will stop things at a moment’s notice. They might use a traffic light system, and the Dom will check in on them continuously, asking for a color just to make sure they’re still enjoying the experience. And once they’re done, there’s aftercare. The submissive knows they’ll be hurt and is mentally prepared, they trust their partner not to harm them, and they know the game will stop instantly if they ask for it. It can even be therapeutic."</p>
<p>"A'ight. I see your point. But there is still abuse happening framed as BDSM."</p>
<p>"Yes. But that doesn't mean we should make kink illegal. We already have laws against abuse. So if you whip me, I safeword, and you go on, it turns into assault. Assault that’s illegal. Now, the problem is that, one, we’re such prudes that any kind of pre-marital sex is seen as perverted, and two, we love to blame the victim. So it’s hard to get the abuser convicted if the victim agreed to sex with him in the first place, even if she just agreed to one part. For instance, ‘surprise-anal’, as illegal as it is, is seen as something she should’ve expected and she can just suit herself for being dumb enough to spread her legs.”</p>
<p>Steve’s about to talk, but Nick holds up his finger to stop him, and goes on. “When you say, ‘they’re drawn to repeat their abuse because they don’t know anything else, and therefore this particular kink should be forbidden’, you’re essentially saying, ‘your parents hit you and therefore you don’t deserve to have agency even as an adult.’ What we should be doing is educate people about kink so crappy bullshit like Fifty Shades isn’t what they form their opinions on. There are so many reasons why we like what we like in bed. Yes, childhood experiences can be one of them. Just like ‘it feels nice’ can be another. But we have emotional, physical, and spiritual reasons and they vary from person to person and situation to situation. But you’re saying, ‘this bad thing happened to you so now you’re not allowed to like replicating a similar premise where you’re in control and know you’ll be respected by the one doing things to you.’ So you forbid it, and you close down any small internet group of experienced kinksters, forcing them even more underground. And what happens then? Because those who have that kink will still search each other out one way or another, and you know it. You know what happens?”</p>
<p>Nick’s pausing, looking at Steve waiting for an answer. Steve shakes his head.</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you what happens. That little part of the kink community who are former abuse victims you worry so about? They’ll no longer have easy access to experienced kinksters that can teach them to look for red flags. There will be nobody to tell them to get out if the Dom says things like, ‘we don’t need a safeword’, or mock them for using the safeword, or worst case, ignore them when they use their safeword. They might believe the Dom they find when he says, ‘you’re my pleasure slave now and that means you have to do everything I tell you because that’s the rules of the game.’ It’s fucking not. And when she inevitably is sucked into an abusive relationship masquerading as BDSM she can’t seek help because you outlawed it, so if she goes to the police <em>she’ll</em> be charged with a crime.”</p>
<p>Steve looks thoughtful. “Huh,” he says and takes a sip of his beer.</p>
<p>“It’s the same bullshit we’re pulling on sex workers,” Nick goes on. “We say we’re prohibiting people from selling sex to protect women from being abused and raped, and to prevent sex trafficking. But those are not the people affected. People are still going to buy and sell sex no matter what, but since it’s illegal a prostitute can’t go to the police when she’s subjected to a crime because she’s risking jail time herself. Victims of sex trafficking are often arrested and prosecuted for prostitution in this damn country. When we crack down on internet porn it’s not the big studios making porn for white men who take the hit, it’s independent creators. College girls and single moms making a buck through their webcams, artists making webcomics, queers, women writing smutty fiction about their favorite TV characters.”</p>
<p>“Is that true?” Dean asks. “Victims of sex trafficking can be arrested?”</p>
<p>Bobby answers. “Yup. Most places ain’t got an immunity clause for trafficking victims. So when they raid a brothel they arrest all the girls in there for sex crimes no matter what.”</p>
<p>“Man, that’s fucked up.”</p>
<p>“Yup,” Bobby agrees.</p>
<p>Hey, Nick?” Steve says. “How bad of a judgment call would it be if I called Ryan right now to discuss what you’ve just told me?”</p>
<p>Nick sniggers. “Why, I don’t know, darlin’” he purrs, “How drunk are you?”</p>
<p>Steve looks at his beer bottle, then at the empty glasses in front of him. “I’m pretty drunk, bro."</p>
<p>"In that case, it's an abysmal judgment call and you shouldn't do it," Nick smirks.</p>
<p>"What do you think of BDSM?" Sam asks Bobby.</p>
<p>"I think that if everyone is in on it, it ain't my damn business what they do in their bedrooms,” Bobby says.</p><hr/>
<p>“Are you gonna sleep or are you just gonna lie there creepy-staring at me?” Dean asks without opening his eyes.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles pleasantly and strokes Dean over the hair. “I think I’ll go with creepy staring tonight.”</p>
<p>Dean’s lips draw into a smile of their own volition and he pries one eye open to look up at Mike who’s supporting his head with a hand, elbow on the mattress, looking down at him with a soft smile. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“I’m still full of raw and tender emotions about your video,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“I’m feeling a bit raw and tender myself,” Dean jokes and wiggles his ass meaningfully.</p>
<p>Mike chuckles. “I’m thinking about something Nick said at dinner,” he says after a short pause.</p>
<p>Dean’s smile falters. “You too, huh? What part, cuz he was talking non-stop. In front of Bobby, no less. Still cringing about that.” <em>...Nothing but a hole…</em> Dean tries not to think about that, but that kinda stuck.</p>
<p>“You know I hold you in my highest regards, right? No matter what we get up to in bed, I respect you,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“What’s that got to do with anything Nick said?” Dean asks and opens his other eye too.</p>
<p>Mike smiles as if Dean made a joke. Since Dean isn’t following it probably means he’s way too drunk and missed something obvious.</p>
<p>“I’ve been bullied something horrifically,” Mike says. “Beat up, stuffed into lockers, head dunked into toilets, publicly humiliated - the works. I know what it feels like to not be respected.”</p>
<p>“Uh-huh?” Dean’s really not following. One day he’ll get a full night’s sleep. Today is not the day. He flips over to his back. His head’s spinning slightly from his alcohol over-indulgence.</p>
<p>“I’ve never been treated badly sexually, though. Yet thinking of hitting someone during sex makes me feel like a bully.”</p>
<p>“So don’t. Problem solved,” Dean says. He’s smart like that.</p>
<p>“No, no, listen to me,” Mike insists, slurring the words a little. “What Nick said, it made me think I’m thinking wrongly.”</p>
<p>Dean blinks. “Eloquent. Must be the wine,” he jokes.</p>
<p>Mike huffs in amusement but goes on undeterred. “What I’m trying to say, I don’t want you to think you, no.” He stumbles over the words, frowns and moves his eyes back and forth as if he’s looking for the right words before he goes on. “I don’t want you to think <em>I</em> don’t respect you when we have sex. So when you ask me to slap you―”</p>
<p>“Then don’t fucking slap me. Problem solved. I don’t want you to trigger some past trauma or whateverfuck just because I’m a kinky fucker,” Dean says, gesturing wisely with a hand.</p>
<p>“No. Listen. <em>Lissen</em>,” Mike insists with the urgency of the very drunk who’s got something very important to say but no means to make them make sense. “Maybe Nick’s onto something? Maybe, maybe I need to slap you during sex to show you I respect you?”</p>
<p>Dean blinks in utter confusion. Then laughter comes bubbling up from his very core. It starts as a hiccuped giggle and escalates. He winds his arms around Mike and pulls him to his chest, laughing into the crook of his neck. “<em>Fuck</em>, I love you sometimes. Maaan. You’re not making any sense whatsoever, babe,” he laughs and lets go enough for Mike to slide halfway off him.</p>
<p>Mike’s beaming at him with a look of absolute wonder on his face and Dean has no idea why.</p>
<p>“What are you trying to say, babe? Dumb it down for me because when the shots got involved I drank away most of my braincells,” Dean prompts.</p>
<p>Mike’s still looking like the happiest mofo on the planet. He takes a breath and makes a false start. Then he tries again, and says, “Maybe it’s therapeutic? Maybe I’m worrying too much that you’ll think I’m thinking bad things about you, when reality, my own fear is rooted in something else. Maybe, maybe we both could benefit from it? Provided we talk it through and set up a framework beforehand. Like they do in the BDSM community?”</p>
<p>“Babe, I’m far too drunk to follow. You’re saying you want to try BDSM?”</p>
<p>“No! Yes. But no. Sort of?”</p>
<p>Dean laughs again. His grin stretches his cheeks so much it hurts when he says, “Gotcha. That’s crystal clear, chief. We’ll try BDSM but we won’t. I’m with you all the way,” he giggles jokingly.</p>
<p>“Good.” Mike smiles. “It’ll have to wait a few weeks so I can devote all my energy to it. But then we agree, yes?” he says, not jokingly at all.</p>
<p>Dean shakes his head and then nods, sniggering. “It’s a deal,” he says, having no idea whatsoever what he’s agreeing to but Mike looks happy and if he wants to be explorative in bed Dean’s not saying no to anything.</p>
<p>“Awesome,” Mike says with a dopey smile, making Dean giggle again because it sounds fucking weird coming from Mike.</p>
<p>“C’mere. Time to sleep, you goof,” Dean says and presses Mike’s head to his chest. They lie still and quiet for a while. Dean closes his eyes, his arms wrapped around Mike. He can’t seem to stop smiling. He wishes he could sleep like this every night. Then he says, “I’ve figured out a loophole.”</p>
<p>“A loophole?” Mike asks.</p>
<p>“To your dumb one-year rule. You just have to move in with Nick. You’ve known him for more than a year. You can have the room we’re supposed to make a hobby room of. Then I can have you in bed with me every night. Always,” Dean explains.</p>
<p>Mike lifts his head with a bewildered smile on his face.</p>
<p>“I’m very smart, you know,” Dean declares sagely. “Problem solved.”</p>
<p>Mike laughs and puts his head back on Dean’s chest, hugging him closer. His laughter is contagious. Dean’s not sure what they’re so overjoyed about but he laughs along anyway.</p><hr/>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please, make my day and leave a comment. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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